


I Came Here Without A Choice

by merulanoir



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Don't copy to another site, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, It's just sex until it's not, M/M, Smut, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-09 17:40:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18921883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir
Summary: “Your heart is beating so fast, but you must understand: I am not judging you,” Regis said in a soft voice. His gaze was sharp and deliberate. “Quite the opposite, in fact. I’m propositioning you.”What begins as an arrangement of mutual pleasure develops into something neither of them can prepare for; some things are not meant to be, some are not meant to last, and you never know what will take the place of what we break.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic begins during Baptism of Fire, and then continues post-games. The title is from a song called _If I Say_ by Mumford & Sons, from their album _Delta_ , which was playing a lot during the writing process.
> 
> This whole mess of a fic started basically like this:  
> Me: "Hey what if Geralt and Regis—"  
> Snuckybarnes: "Do it do it DO IT I dare you."
> 
> Beta by the aforementioned [snuckybarnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snuckybarnes/pseuds/snuckybarnes). <3

_ "What a company I ended up with," Geralt continued, shaking his head. "A poetaster with a lute. A wild and lippy half-dryad, half-woman. A vampire, who's about to notch up his fifth century. And a bloody Nilfgaardian who insists he isn't a Nilfgaardian." _

_ "And leading the party is the witcher, who suffers from pangs of conscience, impotence and the inability to take decisions," Regis finished calmly. _

(Andrzej Sapkowski: _Baptism of Fire_ , p.234)  


 

After they settled for the night, Geralt walked a little way off from the campfire. He was feeling pleasantly full from the fish soup, but his chest was tight; if Ciri wasn’t in Nilfgaard, his search was beginning again from the start. Compared to the half-formed plans he had nursed about freeing her from the imperial palace, heading into the darkness of not knowing anything for certain was almost worse.

He leaned against a tree. He wasn’t even remotely tired, and had thus offered to take the first watch. He still hadn’t decided if he’d let the Nilfgaardian—Cahir something something—stand watch by himself. Milva would hit him if he didn’t, but Geralt was having a hard time letting go of his mistrust. He remembered the nightmares Ciri had suffered from all too well.

A faint rustle preceded the waft of the familiar herbal smell, and then Geralt was joined by the owner of the second ridiculously long name in his new company.

Regis came to a stop next to him and glanced at him.

“You are still brooding,” he observed good-naturedly. Geralt only grunted in response. He wasn’t as angry as he had been, but ire was bubbling inside him, searching for a weak spot to burst through.

The vampire observed him for a while and then sighed. “You are like a bowstring strung too tight. Some day you will simply snap if you won’t learn to let go of that aggression.”

“Terribly sorry,” Geralt muttered, and even he heard how sarcastic his voice was. “We’ve been woefully short on chances to blow off some steam lately.” He knew right away he was confirming Regis’ words by his sullen silences and angry words, and the vampire answered by raising an eyebrow, as if to emphasize his point.

“Well,” he said, the liquid consonant dragging slightly, “on that count you are correct.” He turned towards Geralt. “Until now, as it stands.”

Geralt knew it was a bait, but he wasn’t feeling like playing games. He met Regis’ black eyes with an unhappy frown.

“Speak plainly, will you? Milva’s not the only one with little patience for your long-windedness.”

Regis took no offence. Instead he smiled; Geralt caught a flash of his teeth, and for some reason the sight made him a touch more comfortable. Regis had managed to fool even him, but now the cat was out of the bag, and he felt marginally better when they could cast aside the masks.

“You and I are the only members of our brave company who are not fully human,” Regis said. He crossed his arms and brought a finger to his lips in a thoughtful expression. “Therefore, I am hoping some sort of trust might be forged with time.”

“Not making any promises,” Geralt grunted, but deep inside he already knew he had decided to give the vampire a chance. Why else would he have let Regis stay?

Regis looked at Geralt like he could hear his thoughts loud and clear, and his black eyes were alight with something that looked almost like amusement.

“Just so, but I have a...proposition. One which might ease our way,” Regis said. His voice was much lower now.

Geralt finally turned to stare at the barber-surgeon. Apprehension made him draw in a measured breath, but the vampire didn’t let him get a word in.

“I noticed how you looked at me, before we arrived at the refugee camp,” Regis whispered.

Geralt’s mind ground to a total halt. A flood of ice went through him, leaving only a hollow cold in its wake, and he couldn’t find a word to say.

He knew how people treated men who slept with other men, and there were no pleasant memories in that bunch. How many times had he heard the jeers and insults directed at someone else, only to stiffen himself, anticipating the moment when they would be flung at him?

It had started years and years  ago, way before he set out on the Path. There were no women in Kaer Morhen, and Geralt knew he was far from the first witcher who had—experimented during his youth. Back then it had been almost innocent, just something they were expected to grow out of when they set foot into the world and met whores and wenches.

Geralt had met whores and wenches. He had met  _ Yen _ , and thanks to Dandelion, the two of them were the subject of a hundred ballads. He had grown into his body, learned what he liked, and made a name for himself.

And yet, underneath it all, the want had continued to simmer. When he had been younger, Geralt had wanted to excise it altogether. He’d known women by then, and still on occasion he found himself yearning for a man’s touch, for someone to pin him down and have him. He’d felt ashamed, like there was something wrong with him, like he was a freak in this way as well.

Then years had passed, and he’d simply tired of hating himself for something he had no power over. So if there had been a chance, a familiar face or a fellow witcher who was thus inclined, he’d allowed himself to enjoy it. In secret, and never for long, but still.

During that first night in Fen Carn, when the moonshine had made sharp edges of the world dull, Geralt  _ had _ looked at Regis. The barber-surgeon was by no means his type, if he had a type to begin with, but there was something about him that had drawn Geralt’s gaze time and again. Maybe it was the way he held himself, particular and graceful, or his dark gaze, or the sharp wit.

Maybe it had been none of those, and Geralt was just slipping thoroughly, mind ravaged by the urgency of his quest.

Regis seemed to read his alarm with little trouble, for he didn’t step any closer, didn’t make any sort of move. He just smiled again, warmer this time.

“And now that we have sorted through the unfortunate lies I was forced to spin for my protection, I’d like to address this.”

“I’m not— I don’t—” Geralt blurted out. He wanted to take a step back, but he had been leaning against a tree; he felt trapped, caught under Regis’ unwavering gaze. His heart picked up its pace, and the witcher had no doubt the vampire heard every thud as they hit his ribcage.

But Regis didn’t back away in disgust or sneer at him. He stood his ground, head tilted to the side, and observed Geralt with that same odd smile.

“Witchers have a certain, let us call it reputation. I’m sure you know the same goes for vampires, even without my little lecture just now.”

Geralt opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His hand was itching for a weapon, even when he knew this was not a fight that could be fought with steel or silver.

“Your heart is beating so fast, but you must understand: I am not judging you,” Regis said in a soft voice. His gaze was sharp and deliberate. “Quite the opposite, in fact. I’m propositioning you.”

A startled laugh escaped Geralt’s mouth like a bird taking wing. He stifled the sound to not attract attention from their sleeping companions, but being quiet didn’t silence the howling disbelief inside his head.

He spent several moment staring at Regis, and the vampire met his incredulous gaze steadily. His smile had never gone away, but the gentle edge had vanished. It had become challenging.

“You’re serious.” Geralt heard how disbelieving his tone was.

Regis finally let his posture thaw, crossing his arms again and cocking his head. “Of course I am.”

“You can’t just...say that aloud.”

“Why ever not?” Regis asked, and something in his tone made Geralt’s palms prickle with annoyance. It wasn’t condescending, but there was a hidden barb in it.

“It’s not done,” Geralt hissed. 

Regis actually rolled his eyes. The gesture made him momentarily appear younger than the middle-aged guise he was wearing.

“You are very keen to apply human standards to me, witcher. But do remember I am only posturing as one.”

“Still,” Geralt insisted, a bit helplessly. He didn’t know what he was driving at, but Regis had managed to catch him completely off-guard.

The vampire noticed how close to flustered Geralt was. Before the witcher got another word in, he stepped closer and smiled just a bit wider. The herbs made Geralt’s nose tickle, but at the same time his throat was growing tight. In the dim light of the moon and stars filtered through the trees, Regis’ eyes were like a window to a void. His hooked nose and sharp brows with that hint of grey sent a passing thought through Geralt’s head, remarking how odd it was that he would find such a face so appealing.

He quickly forced the realization away, but Regis didn’t miss a thing.

Before Geralt broke free from his stupor, the vampire brushed his cool, slender fingers down his cheek. The touch was the first one they had shared, apart from Regis slicing through his bindings in Fort Armeria.

“The offer stands,” Regis murmured.

The next moment, he was gone. Geralt stared into the darkness for several seconds before the ice broke and he sagged against the tree. He was breathing shallowly, his heart pumping with a deeper rhythm than was entirely normal, and to his horror he realized he was aroused.

He  _ had  _ looked, but he had never entertained the slightest notion of doing anything about it. When faced with the mere possibility, Geralt found he lacked any and all knowledge on how to proceed.

***

“—And there is something disgusting about sex which, after all, rules out procreation,” Regis finished with a faint gleam of humor in his eyes.

“Speak for yourself,” Geralt muttered, so low the rest of their company would have trouble hearing. The vampire no doubt caught his words, but elected to ignore them. He went on, spouting some more fancy words about vampiric myths, but Geralt stopped listening. He saw both Dandelion’s and Cahir’s faces twitching as they tried not to laugh.

Even when Milva pointed an accusing finger at Regis, the witcher leaned back towards the fallen tree and ignored the rest of the discussion.

Regis’ offer had been burning at the back of his head for days. Geralt had tried to ignore it, but he wasn’t able to ignore Regis himself. Not when the damned bloodsucker was turning out to be so likable. It really went to show that the rest of the company had chosen to address their fears this late, because Regis didn’t register as danger to any of them. That was, until Dandelion had opened his mouth and started babbling.

Geralt had put in a token effort to remain aloof towards Regis, but his resolve had shattered in less than a day. Roach had been more comfortable with Regis’ sturdy bay, and hours of riding together had given them ample chance to talk. The witcher was trying his best to resolve the conflict of finding a higher vampire such pleasant company, and that was even before his traitor mind dragged the moonlight conversation back into his head. It happened several times a day, and every time Geralt fell silent and withdrew, because he feared he’d actually say yes.

He still loved Yen, could feel the invisible thread binding them together. But she was gone, vanished after Thanedd, and at the same time he was so angry at her it blistered him from the inside. She had lied, time and again, and partly because of that Ciri was now missing.

“Going for a walk,” Geralt muttered to the rest of them and stepped away from the glow of the fire. Milva threw a jibe at his back, but Geralt ignored her. They had camped next to a stream, some small tributary of the Yaruga, and the lush forest pressed close here. The witcher picked his way deeper into the woods, until the sounds of the water and his friends died mostly away.

He found a toppled boulder atop a small hill, and sat down. They had been riding briskly, and made good time. The war was mostly behind them, and with neither the Nilfgaardian troops or the Scoia’tael bothering them, they had allowed themselves to relax just a little. Unfortunately it meant that Geralt had had too much time for his thoughts, because he’d actually started to consider Regis’ proposal.

His mulling was interrupted by the object of his conflict a short while later. Regis had not even bothered to follow him on foot, because one moment Geralt was alone by the rock, and the next Regis was sitting down, looking at him with a hint of smugness. Around them, the forest was growing dim as the sun went down.

“Did I make you uncomfortable?” the vampire asked, not unkindly.

Geralt shrugged. He was finding it hard to remain properly angry at Regis.

“Needed some space, that’s all.”

Regis nodded sagely, not saying anything. It was unusual, and after a short silence Geralt gave up and looked at him. He was met with the same amusement Regis had treated him with every time his mind had happily skidded into the gutter during the past days. 

Geralt could have sworn he had not consciously decided to wonder what Regis’ proposition would entail, but his brain seemed dead-set on torturing him.

He had even woken up hard that very same morning, after a confusing array of dreams that slipped his mind like fog as soon as he opened his eyes. Only the frustrating arousal had remained, and Geralt had been absolutely certain Regis had noticed; the vampire hadn’t looked at Geralt as they broke their fast, but there had been tension between them all day.

What Geralt found unsettling about meeting Regis’ gaze was how straightforward the vampire was, now and when he had made the proposal. His face was open, and he had laid out the preliminary terms with little room for guesswork. Sex was on offer, if Geralt was so inclined.

And he was feeling something hovering, on the verge of tipping the scales.

“What’s in it for you?” Geralt finally asked, when Regis seemed content to torture him with his silence.

Regis huffed a laugh without breaking eye contact. “Why, pleasure of the carnal sort.”

Geralt frowned, and Regis grinned wider, fangs and all. “In addition, I’m hopeful your sour moods would lighten somewhat, thus benefiting our whole group.”

Geralt just stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Why me?”

Regis’ smile didn’t fall, but it transformed into something friendlier, no longer shadowed by the mocking tilt.

“You’re a witcher. Mayhaps I am curious, and this is certainly the only chance a higher vampire will get to indulge,” he said in a quieter tone, voice slipping into a new register. “Please do not fear I have conceived an incurable and desperate passion for you, my friend. Vampires experience feelings of affection and love quite differently from humans.”

Geralt swallowed, because Regis had leaned just a bit closer, and he could feel the warmth the vampire radiated. His own body was coming alive with it, quite without his permission, and his resolve was crumbling fast. It had been a while since he’d last slept with anyone, and much longer still since the last time he’d been with another man.

Geralt had just enough time to wonder whether his thoughts were as clearly visible on his face as he feared, when Regis’ eyes dropped to his mouth. The next thing he knew, the vampire leaned still closer, hovering just a breath away. Fingers crept up to cup Geralt’s cheek.

“Tell me to go away, and I will,” Regis murmured.

Instead of doing that, Geralt surged forwards as the tension reached breaking point. He felt Regis laugh into his mouth, and only when the vampire pinned him down and continued with more heat, Geralt realized he had never actually kissed another man before. He’d fucked his fair share of them, sucked cock and enjoyed it, but kissing had never been a part of it.

The thoughts flickered out as Regis’ mouth moved on, sucking on his neck as the vampire carefully started to unbuckle his armor. Geralt had half a thought to worry about getting caught naked in the forest, but then the tiny bit of his brain that still hung on to coherence pointed out that he was probably as safe as he was ever going to be. He had not lied to Dandelion earlier when he’d confessed he was uncertain if he could ever kill Regis.

Regis made quick work of Geralt’s pauldrons and mail, not stopping until the undershirt followed them to the ground, and Geralt’s naked back pressed against the moss covering the boulder. Regis straddled him with one smooth motion, and in doing so, pressed their crotches together. Pleasure skittered up Geralt’s spine, and Regis’ mouth stretched into a breathy grin.

“My, I’m feeling rather hopeful for our encounter,” he whispered, grinding down once more before diving in for another kiss. Geralt thrust his tongue into Regis’ mouth, caught the tip of a fang, and tried to keep his sanity intact.

Regis was much lighter than he was, but when Geralt tried to move him, the vampire didn’t budge. He noticed what Geralt attempted to do, but when the witcher voiced no protests, Regis was happy to continue exploring Geralt’s mouth. Geralt tugged Regis’ clothes off the best he could, but his hips were pinned down. 

When Regis finally shrugged his thin undershirt off, Geralt pulled their chests flush together. Regis blew out a hot breath against his throat, and a small voice inside Geralt’s head piped up a warning; if Regis had lied, had deceived them, Geralt would be dead before he could do anything.

Regis sensed him tensing up, and pulled back a bit. His eyes were black and hungry, but very much human.

“Not to worry, my dear witcher,” he whispered. “You will not get bitten tonight.”

With that, Regis continued kissing his was down Geralt’s chest. He pressed his tongue flat against a nipple before sucking, hard, and Geralt whined. His hands hovered for a second before burying themselves into Regis’ hair. The vampire made a delighted sound at that, slipping ever lower and occupying his mouth with exploring every inch of Geralt’s skin.

When he finally reached the belt, his fingers were already at the buckle when he paused and glanced up.

“Is this alright?” he asked, mouth slightly pink from dragging it over the trail of hair disappearing under the waistband. 

Geralt managed a nod, and then his pants were tugged down. He had felt himself grow harder and harder, but seeing his cock bob in front of him, straining away from his body made it more real. It seemed to have a similar reaction to Regis, who very unsubtly licked his lips before bending lower to nuzzle the white hair at the base. His tongue teased its way through them, finding skin and making Geralt grip Regis’ hair harder. 

Geralt’s head fell back against the moss-covered rock when Regis licked a stripe up his erection and immediately closed his lips around the tip. A moan tore free a second later, when Regis very slowly swirled his tongue around, humming in a way Geralt would have called satisfied if his brain wasn’t busy burning up with lust. He tried to loosen his fingers, but when his gaze met Regis’ the vampire smiled with his eyes, as if to say it was alright.

All sensible thought backed away immediately after, when Regis started to work himself lower, tongue brushing against the shaft as he went, only to pull back while he sucked, and then repeat the process to take Geralt even deeper. The witcher tried to stay quiet, but his breaths were coming harsh, with soft keens slipping out at their heels. Regis’ hands were gripping his hips hard, and they felt like the only anchors that wouldn’t be ripped off their moorings in this particular storm.

When Regis finally swallowed him down, Geralt broke. He was coming before his mind registered what was happening, and the world faded away as he bucked into Regis’ mouth, a harsh cry tearing free from his mouth and fingers holding onto the black and grey hair. It lasted a long time, and Geralt felt like aside from his load he also spilled out all the tension and indecision Regis had wrought.

He came down from the high of his orgasm slowly, blinking open hazy eyes and seeing starlight. When he turned his head, he saw Regis had stretched out next to him. The vampire was grinning as he stroked a hand up and down Geralt’s chest.

“I’d say you needed that,” the vampire said with a trace of laughter in his voice. 

When Geralt craned his head up, his eyes confirmed what he’d felt against his thigh. Regis was hard inside his own pants, and Geralt wasn’t about to back out from this part of their arrangement.

“Get those off,” he said as he got up and immediately knelt down, tugging Regis until he was leaning against the boulder. Instead of kicking off his soft, black trousers, the vampire surprised Geralt by turning into mist and immediately materializing again without his clothes. Geralt looked up, and saw Regis was grinning smugly. He rolled his eyes, but then his eyes were drawn to the erection in front of him.

Geralt couldn’t remember how long it had been since the last time he had given head to another man, but he was glad to find out he enjoyed it as much as he remembered. Regis sighed when Geralt sucked his cock into his mouth. The witcher kept his touch light and teasing, because even if they were coming into this arrangement from a place of convenience, he couldn’t resist showing off.

It occurred to him just a bit too late that he was trying to boast his skills to a being that had walked the earth for almost five centuries. His gaze locked with Regis’ just when the vampire gripped his head gently and pushed deeper, all the while watching him closely, mouth hanging open so that a fang peeked out. Geralt relaxed his throat, and as Regis started to fuck his mouth, he closed his eyes. He focused on the slick slide, the warm flesh filling his mouth, the steady trickle of precum that told him he was doing something right, and it wasn’t too long until Regis’ breath became ragged and his grip grew tight and desperate.

When the vampire came with a sharp inhale and a low growl, Geralt swallowed everything down, acutely aware how hard he was all over again. He slipped Regis out from his mouth and coughed, throat protesting but mind clear and unbothered for the first time in weeks. Hell, months.

“This was clearly one of my brighter ideas,” Regis finally said, slumping down onto the boulder and leaning back on his elbows. Geralt snorted and pushed up, only realizing Regis’ eyes had immediately fallen on his hard cock when a rough laughter spilled free from the vampire.

“And it seems the rumoured witcher stamina was not the least bit exaggerated,” he added with badly-contained glee.

Geralt sat down and wiped a hand down his face. “You going to do something about it?” he threw, not really knowing what to expect. When Regis’ face darkened with a feral grin, Geralt swallowed thickly.

 

When Geralt finally crept back into the camp, some hours later, he found Dandelion and Cahir in deep sleep and Milva standing guard, whittling more spoons by the looks of it. Geralt met her gaze over the campfire, and thanked every master in Kaer Morhen for taking away his ability to blush.

“Took a long walk,” Milva remarked with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh,” Geralt replied, eloquently. Dread was crawling up his back;  _ why  _ had he not thought how his and Regis’ absence would be seen?

The archer glanced into the dark forest. “The vampire went to gather some herbs. Claimed he knows of a species that keep their properties best when picked during nighttime.”

Geralt didn’t answer. He silently cursed himself and Regis. Had both of them really thought they could slip away unnoticed?

Milva disturbed his agonized stressing by throwing one of the spoons at his head.

“Get your head out of your ass, witcher. No one cares who you fuck.”

Geralt opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Milva glared at him, unimpressed. “At least neither one of you will accidentally knock the other ‘un up. Count your blessings and stop being an arse about it. We have a long journey ahead.”

Geralt only nodded, averting his gaze. He laid down on his bedroll, and he was just about to fall asleep when Regis returned and relieved Milva from guard duty.

“Had a good walk, vampire?”

“Oh, quite.”

“Didn’t find those herbs, did you?”

“My dear Milva, your eyes are ever accurate.”

“Sod off.”

***

When the battle on the bridge and the subsequent royal audience were done, Geralt was given a proper room at the Red Port. He found himself in a creaky old house that might have been a ferryman’s home once. The room was drafty and the bed groaned under his weight when he sat down, but it beat trying to sleep on the ground with his swollen back.

He hadn’t bothered to join the revelries. After meeting up with Cahir and Dandelion, Geralt had bid them goodbye and gone in search of Regis and Milva. He had not managed to locate either, mostly because he was forbidden from entering the medics’ tents. A stuffy guard had eyed him with suspicion, and no mention of knighthood could sway him.

Geralt suppressed a grunt of discomfort as he started to strip off his armor. His back throbbed and ached, and his knee was sending jolts of pain through him every time he moved. Slowly, he managed to undress, and by the time he was lying down he was almost certain he’d need a helping hand to get back up come morning.

His eyes were just starting to droop when the air pressure changed. A moment later Regis materialized next to the bed, looking paler than usual.

“Hey,” Geralt grunted, rolling on to his side with difficulty. “Went looking for you earlier.”

Regis nodded. He sat down, and Geralt made room for him.

“I was with Milva,” the vampire said. His hands were in his lap, slack and unmoving.

“How is she?”

Regis sighed, looking at the floor. “Sleeping. Heavily sedated. She’ll live.”

Geralt felt a dull pain shoot through him, and it had nothing to do with his physical injuries. He opened his mouth to ask, but Regis shook his head.

“There was nothing to be done.”

Silence fell, and Geralt tried to hold his grief under control. He had just started to get used to the idea of Milva being pregnant, and then a stroke of unimaginably bad luck took it all away. His thoughts were interrupted by Regis finally turning to look at him.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Been better,” Geralt admitted. “My back’s bust, but it’ll heal.”

Regis hummed. He gestured for Geralt to roll over, and the witcher obliged, despite having been subjected to a physical examination earlier. Regis’ hands felt the hurting part gently, and Geralt allowed the touch to ground him.

Regis let his hand rest on the small of his back after he was done. Geralt wondered about it for a while, but then he ignored his confusion. They had touched each other a great deal the other day, this was just something a bit different.

He turned his head, catching Regis’ gaze.

“Do you want to—” he begun, voice trailing off when he didn’t know what he had been about to suggest. A heavier silence descended over them, this one full of tension and with Regis’ eyes boring into Geralt’s.

Then Regis’ hand moved, climbing over Geralt’s ass and diving lower, between his thighs. It came to a stop there, fingers moving in small circles. Geralt exhaled into his pillow.

“I don’t wish to hurt you,” Regis said, but his voice was heavy. His fingers never stopped moving, and the touch felt electric through the thin underpants Geralt had left on for sleep.

“Seems like you’ll have to do all the heavy lifting, then,” Geralt muttered, drawing a short laugh from the vampire. There was a rushing sound, Regis’ hand vanished, and then a warm, naked body pressed closer to Geralt on the narrow cot. The witcher exhaled shakily when the hand returned, tugging his breeches off before continuing the caress.

“That I can do,” Regis whispered into his ear, hovering over him, touching but not putting any weight on Geralt.

He leaned back then, settling between Geralt’s legs and nudging them wider with his own. Geralt felt himself stir against the thin mattress, and when Regis pressed a wet kiss to his thigh he stifled a moan. After all the adrenaline, the slow and steady pace felt good.

Regis continued to pet him, drawing heat to the surface, fingers occasionally brushing against his intimates but otherwise keeping his distance. Only when Geralt actually canted his hips up, he chuckled and reached for his bag.

Geralt smelled plain oil, and he would’ve asked whether Regis had been preparing for this, had the vampire not chosen that exact moment to spread his buttcheeks and pour a trickle of the oil over him. The touch of the viscous liquid was barely there, but the implication dealt a mental slap to Geralt. It had been years since he’d last done this, and now he was about to get fucked by a higher vampire.

His cock went from hardening to solid in the few seconds it took him to process the thought, and Regis seemed to notice. He made a pleased rumble at the back of his throat, and then his fingers were there, teasing him open with all the care.

“You’ve done this before.”

Geralt heard no surprise in Regis’ voice. He shrugged, trying for nonchalance but the effect was ruined by how shallow his breathing was becoming when he felt Regis slide his fingers in and out.

“The lack of alarm is one thing, but you smell delectable,” Regis continued, tone slipping into something low and pleased. “I have no idea how good your sense of smell is, but I can tell you enjoy what I’m doing. Your sweat smells of adrenaline and lust, it’s nearly intoxicating.” His teasing, purring voice made Geralt gasp, and right then Regis crooked his fingers. He chased the spot that made Geralt bury his face into the pillow. 

Even then, he could smell Regis. There was the usual array of herbs, less prominent now that he was naked. A sharper tang underneath the guise caught his attention; it was a smell Geralt couldn’t connect with anything else but the vampire. On top of it all was the scent of sex, the simple way men smelled when they were aroused.

“If we do keep this up, I expect you will want to do this to me,” Regis whispered when he finally pulled his fingers out. Geralt lifted his head, but he didn’t have a chance to utter a word when blunt pressure pushed against him, and then Regis was sliding inside. Geralt keened, hands clawing at the mattress, trying to relax and avoid moving to spare his abused back.

Regis slid all the way in with no resistance, a testament to how thorough he had been with his preparations, and then lowered himself until he was hovering just above Geralt. His hot breaths ghosted along the nape of the witcher’s neck.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Regis murmured, and Geralt heard he was smiling. “You can imagine how it will feel when our roles are reversed.”

Geralt managed to think about how he wasn’t the least bit surprised Regis was a talker in bed, and then the thought evaporated as Regis kept his promise. The vampire pressed just close enough for his chest to slide over Geralt’s back, but no pressure was put on him. Geralt lied still, and it was its own kind of torture to be unable to move and just concentrate on feeling everything. There was no way for him to touch himself, so he let his own cock be, trapped under him and leaking, and focused on the way Regis slid into him time and again, hitting the good spot with unerring accuracy.

Geralt realized he was drooling on his pillow only when Regis picked up the pace, the vampire’s breaths becoming more and more ragged. Geralt was so aroused it hurt; he felt a sticky patch under his stomach, but right when he thought to reach for himself Regis gripped his hands.

“I’ll take care of you,” Regis whispered as his hips moved more urgently, his heartbeat more resonant than usual. He licked Geralt’s neck, and the touch felt almost too much when Geralt was on the verge of coming just from getting his ass pounded. The witcher moaned, forgetting entirely to stifle the sound, and Regis gave a laugh that stretched into a whine as he stuttered, coming inside Geralt and biting down as he did. It wasn’t even nearly hard enough to break the skin, and Geralt allowed himself to enjoy it, too, using what little leverage he had to press against Regis.

The vampire hung above him for several long seconds, breathing deep and pressing open-mouthed kisses to his skin. When Geralt twitched, Regis pulled out and easily maneuvered him on his back. When his eyes fell to Geralt’s cock, he grinned.

Geralt knew he’d been leaking over, but seeing his erection glisten in the dim light filtering through the tiny window made him groan. He felt like a raw nerve, and Regis made an appreciative chuckle as he shuffled down. 

“Some day, I might make you come just from that,” he murmured, before licking Geralt into his mouth. Geralt slammed a hand in front of his own mouth, making Regis’ eyes quirk in a satisfied manner, and then he tried to hang on for dear life.

Regis went slow, torturously so. His mouth was wet and hot, but he didn’t suck as he sunk down and came back up, lips gliding over Geralt and tongue brushing the underside. Geralt was dying to come by then, hips twitching and the pain in his back reminding him to keep still. Regis’ hand held him down, nails digging into his hip as he worked his clever, infuriating mouth on him.

“Come on,” Geralt finally gasped when his thighs went so taut he was shivering. “Please,  _ please— _ ”

Regis didn’t waste any time. Geralt saw his cheeks hollow, felt the tongue press firmly against his cock, and a few seconds later his mind tore itself apart as he spilled himself, Regis pressing him forcefully into the mattress so he wouldn’t move and strain his back, and the rest of the world fading away as he became a single hot spot of pleasure.

He came down from that high very slowly. He was aware of Regis lying next to him, hand thrown across his chest and breathing steadily, but Geralt was content to ignore everything else in favor of this blissful silence inside his head for a few moments more. He had known fucking was as good a remedy to anxiety and frustration as any, but this was a whole new level.

“Fuck, you’re good,” Geralt finally groaned as he forced his eyes open. Regis propped himself up by his elbow and looked unbearably smug. The heavy sadness had left his face, too.

“I  _ have _ been at it for over four hundred years,” the vampire remarked, like commenting on the weather. Geralt snorted.

***

After Riedbrune, and everything that happened there, Geralt prepared to split the hansa. The thought made him vaguely uncomfortable. His broken lip had healed, but the welts from Milva’s belt ached, reminding him of his idiocy every time he shifted in his saddle.

He kept an eye on Cahir, and saw his own injuries were bothering the Nilfgaardian as well. The thought made Geralt feel strangely better, as if the mutual pain they had experienced at Milva’s hands tied them together.

He knew who had spied on them now.

Angoulême kept up a steady chatter all the way through the forests, her curses and stories interspersed by Dandelion voicing his concerns about her manner of dealing with people who annoyed her, and Regis trying and failing to steer the discussion towards anything that didn’t include the words ‘arse’ and ‘bugger.’

Geralt let the background noise wash over him, not participating in the discussion. He rode at the front with Milva, who was silent but for once in a good mood. She’d finally allowed Regis to trim her shorn locks, and now the neatly cut, golden brown hair framed her face in a new way; she looked like she knew exactly where she was going, and nothing would stop her from getting there.

When night fell, and Mount Gorgon seemed to loom ever closer to them, they made camp. Geralt joined Dandelion and Regis in preparing supper, while Cahir and Milva disappeared into the woods, only to return empty-handed by the time Angoulême got a fire going and was in the middle of telling yet another story that inevitably concluded with someone getting stabbed and her gang pilfering their money.

Geralt noticed Regis was watching him. The vampire didn’t say a word, but Geralt felt his gaze on his skin as he cleaned and oiled his swords. Its weight wasn’t unpleasant, but he was aware of it every moment.

He had told Regis about Yen.

He had frowned, and right after confirming Geralt’s theory of the scanning magic not working on higher vampires, his look had turned worried.

 

_ “You’re talking about your lover.” Regis’ voice was steady. _

_ “Former lover,” Geralt corrected him, anger making his voice tight. “She’s working with the fucker who broke my knee in Thanedd, who tried to get Ciri.” _

_ Regis’ frown deepened. “And you’re certain you’re not allowing your emotions to misguide you?” _

_ Geralt bit back the insult he wanted to fling at Regis, and shook his head. The vampire patted his shoulder. _

_ “As I told you, vampires experience these emotions differently, and I feel I’m not well-versed in understanding the human way. I just wanted to make sure.” _

_ “It’s her,” Geralt said. “We were close, she’s had all the time she needs to form the matrix to track me down.” _

_ Regis nodded, his eyes hardening. “Then we must make plans.” _

 

Geralt knew almost everyone in their little hansa was aware he and Regis were fucking. He’d seen Dandelion’s eyes skitter between them, but for some reason the poet had not asked about it. Geralt held no hopes for the matter to stay that way, but he suspected Milva had threatened Dandelion with something horrifying.

Milva herself had not mentioned anything after that mortifying first night, and Cahir had simply smiled to himself the one time he’d seen Geralt walk out of the beekeepers’ camp and Regis amble after him a while later.

Geralt knew, deep in his bones, that Angoulême would never let him hear the end of it if she found out, but as the evening wore on and the sky grew dark, his resolve weakened. His head was full of angry haze, and Yen’s betrayal smarted like poison. He tried to tell himself he didn’t love her anymore, that the djinn’s magic was as good as nothing, but deep inside his chest was a hollow space that hurt. Something had died when he’d understood how things were, and he refused to mourn.

He gave up when Angoulême, Milva, and Dandelion started to fall asleep, and Cahir took the first watch. Geralt refused to meet his eye when he stood up, despite sensing no hostility or scorn from the Nilfgaardian. He simply turned his back to the camp, walked into the dark forest, and came to a stop when the last sounds faded away and he couldn’t see the fire any longer.

He waited for Regis to join him, and it occurred to him how odd it all was. He was sneaking away, even when everyone knew what he was doing. He was fucking a being he should fear and hate by all accounts, but who only managed to make him feel at ease. If anything, Regis was a friend now, and Geralt was reluctant to split up with him.

The vampire arrived in a waft of mist, taking form next to him and offering him a smile.

“Cahir looked awfully smug,” he said with a faint laugh. “Poor boy.”

Geralt snorted. “To be honest, I expected them to fuck off the moment they realized what we were doing.”

“Ah, my friend, you give them all too little credit,” Regis said with a smile, showing his fangs now that they were alone. “Milva told me that if what we are doing is keeping you from moping, I’m forbidden from quitting, and she threatened to burn Dandelion’s  _ Half a Century of Poetry  _ if he brought it up.”

A wry grin pulled at Geralt’s mouth. “I wondered what she’d done to keep his mouth shut.”

Regis stroked his chin. “And as evidenced by Cahir’s stand in regards to Milva’s pregnancy and the question of terminating it, Nilfgaard is considerably more enlightened when it comes to matters of sexuality.”

Geralt made a noncommittal sound, but then he frowned.

“What about your people?”

Regis turned to look at him properly, raising his eyebrows in question, and Geralt gestured towards him.

“Vampires. They’re fine with blokes screwing each other?”

Regis shrugged. He had tied his hair back tonight, and in the darkness he looked every bit like a tax collector, as Zoltan had described him when they’d first met.

“It’s not common, but as we rarely procreate, it’s also not frowned upon.” His face was closed off, and for once Geralt was absolutely certain Regis wasn’t about to deliver an unwanted lecture.

Instead of probing, Geralt took a step closer. Regis’ eyes snapped up to meet his.

“It’s gonna be a while before we see each other again,” Geralt said. 

As infrequent as their encounters were, a pattern had been emerging. They’d sneak off, and depending on the location, they’d fool around until both were sufficiently drained to be able to worry too much. 

Geralt wasn’t entirely sure what Regis got out of their romps, apart from a chance to blow his load with a partner who didn’t tire even after multiple rounds. He himself was forced to admit Regis’ original point about him being in a less foul mood was working spectacularly. 

On top of that, Geralt didn’t have to worry about breaking Regis. Having the vampire push back just as hard made him feel like he wasn’t required to hide the ugly parts of himself when they fucked. If he needed to be manhandled and pinned down, Regis didn’t flinch at the apparent violence; the vampire simply grinned at him, and then demonstrated exactly how helpless he could make a witcher feel.

Regis met him halfway and pressed closer. His hands snuck around Geralt’s waist, giving him a light squeeze.

“I trust you will keep yourself from harm?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Regis smiled. “You see, quite apart from our arrangement, you have become a friend to me.”

“Likewise,” Geralt said. He concealed his surprise at Regis’ sudden openness; the vampire was verbose, but everything of substance was usually well-covered.

Before they got too sentimental, Geralt swooped down and kissed Regis, backing him against a tree and slipping hands under his robes. The vampire kissed back as he arched into the touch, his own hands already flying to the buckles he had memorized well enough to disrobe Geralt with his eyes closed.

Geralt pushed Regis’ shirt open, and drew him closer, but then the vampire gasped sharply. His hands dug in, holding Geralt in place, but his eyes were suddenly wide open and—not alarmed, but more than surprised.

“What is that?” he asked. A shiver went up Regis’ spine, and Geralt felt him rapidly grow hard against his hip.

“What’s what?” he asked, not understanding a thing.

“That...tingling,” Regis said, blinking rapidly and licking his lips. He still wasn’t letting Geralt go.

Understanding made Geralt flush. He bit his lip.

“Oh,” he muttered. “Didn’t know you’d feel that too.”

“It’s—I’ve never experienced anything like it,” Regis explained. Judging by how tight he was holding Geralt, the feeling wasn’t unpleasant.

“Usually only magic users have felt that,” Geralt muttered. He wasn’t entirely clear what made his partners tingle when he touched them, but it being pointed out had always made him vaguely uncomfortable.

“It hasn’t happened before, but— _ oh _ ,” Regis groaned faintly and then dragged him into a kiss. It was wet and messy, more tongue and teeth than lips. He was breathing harshly when he pulled back. “You  _ will _ fuck me, as soon as we find a proper bed, witcher.”

The determined, hungry expression Regis wore snapped Geralt out of the glumness that had threatened to overtake him. He laughed, and then bent down to lick a wet trail up Regis’ neck. The vampire actually whined, hands brushing Geralt’s hair out from his eyes.

“It’s—it’s almost unsettling,” Regis said, hips twitching and his cock visibly straining inside his pants. “It takes a while to,  _ ah _ , ignite, but when it does, it—” the rest of the sentence was lost into a guttural moan as Geralt dragged his trousers down and took him into his mouth.

Regis’ fingers scrabbled for something to hold on to, and they found their place in Geralt’s hair. The witcher slid his hands to cup Regis’ ass, sucking him hard and finding himself enjoying how undone the newfound effect had rendered the vampire. Regis was usually fairly good at keeping quiet, but now he had apparently forgotten how to.

“It’s too much,” Regis panted as he watched Geralt with his eyes barely open. “It lingers for a while, and then it fades,  _ oh dear ohh _ , and it gets so intense.”

Geralt grinned around Regis’ cock, swirling his tongue around the glans, and Regis’ knees started to tremble.

“ _ Please _ , don’t stop,” Regis gasped. “Geralt, please,  _ oh elders _ , just like that.” His grip was so hard it was hurting, but Geralt felt himself leak over at seeing Regis lose himself completely. Regis had enjoyed talking dirty before, but this was different. His normally sharp eyes had gone hazy, and there wasn’t much sense to his babbling, other than urging Geralt on.

Geralt set a ruthless pace then, giving the vampire a hint of teeth every now and then, and soon Regis was reduced to a panting, begging mess. It was new, and unsettling, and most of all it was glorious.

Regis came like someone had punched him squarely in the face; one moment he was trembling where he was trapped between Geralt and the tree, and the next he spasmed violently, jerking himself out from Geralt’s mouth with the force of it, and coming all over Geralt’s chin and chest.

Geralt held on to Regis, leaning his head to his stomach as the vampire shook and whimpered, mouthing at his cock. Regis was breathing like he had run a mile in a minute, and after a while he simply slumped down, coming to rest between Geralt’s knees.

With some effort, Regis pried his eyes open. His mouth was slack, and sweat was glistening on his chest. When he noticed the mess he’d made, he gave a weak chuckle.

“My apologies.”

Geralt laughed at the ragged tone. He licked his lips and then wiped his chin, deciding that he’d need to make a detour to the stream before heading back to the camp.

Regis was in no hurry to extract himself from the pile they had made. His fingers played in Geralt’s hair, and after a while he pressed his palm against Geralt’s chest.

“It’s stopped,” he said. Curiosity made his voice lilt up. “It was so intense, and now it’s gone.”

The black eyes found Geralt’s. “How did it work with sorceresses?”

“Shoulda guessed you’d want to investigate that,” Geralt grumbled, but without any real heat. It had been a nice bonus.

“Oh, without a doubt,” Regis leered, and Geralt laughed again.

“Dunno, I think someone mentioned magic users almost always feel it?” Geralt explained, digging through his memory and carefully avoiding any paths that would remind him of Yen. He didn’t need that right now.

Regis pursed his lips, a contemplative look overtaking his face. “It could be I only feel it when we’re sufficiently aroused.”

“Could be,” Geralt said with a shrug. “As far as I know, I’m the first witcher to fuck a higher vampire, so your pool of samples is kinda small.”

“Mm,” Regis hummed, leaning closer to kiss Geralt, tongue flitting out to taste himself where he’d spilled over. “I will not let that deter me.”

 

When they were finally done, Geralt let Regis return first. When he made it back to the camp, washed and feeling sleep starting to tug at him, he was met with Angoulême’s amused eyes peering at him over the crackling fire.

Geralt stared right back at her, but the girl didn’t seem to mind his glare. She shrugged before looking back to the stick she’d been whittling, casting a glance to the bedroll Geralt knew belonged to Regis. He could hear the vampire was already asleep.

“So. You an’ nuncle,” she whispered.

Geralt stopped unrolling his own bedding, not looking up. He heard Angoulême resume mangling the stick with Milva’s big hunting knife. The silence stretched, and then he couldn’t take it any longer.

“Got a problem with that?”

The girl lifted her gaze, and Geralt saw she was surprised; as if she hadn’t expected him to continue on the topic.

“Nah,” she said, throwing the stick into the fire and picking up a new one, looking at it critically. “As long as I don’t have to look at you two buggerin’, it’s all the same to me.”

Geralt felt his neck grow hot, and he hastily climbed into his bedroll. Sleep took him quickly.

***

“Oho, look what the cat dragged in.”

The smell of the roasting trout made Geralt’s stomach growl, but more profound was the deep relief that made his heart beat lighter. He threw a smile at the vampire, who answered in kind before turning his attention to Cahir and his abused scalp.

“Well now,” Regis said as he shouldered the Nilfgaardian’s weight with no difficulty. “I did tell Geralt to look after you.”

“The witcher was, hmm, preoccupied,” Cahir answered. He tried to grin, but he was still weak from the fever.

“They threw a hatchet at him,” Geralt muttered, stifling a smile as he unbuckled his armor and tried to sort through the mess that was his hair. 

A stream was warbling a short distance away, and in the end he shucked all his clothing by it and waded in, washing away blood, grime, and sweat. He threw on just his pants and undershirt when he was done, because with Regis present, he knew he could afford it for a short while.

When he came back to the campfire, Cahir’s head was bandaged anew and the young man was in deep sleep, curled up on his bedroll. Regis met his eyes with a calm expression when he sat down next to the vampire.

“I made him drink a fairly strong painkiller. He’ll be out for twelve hours or so, and after that the worst should be behind him.” Regis smiled again, adjusting the spits. “You seem to be faring much better.”

“Nothing that needs your attention,” Geralt confirmed, only to be seized into a kiss that almost made him lose his balance. Regis licked into his mouth and held him tight, and Geralt relaxed into the embrace without a second thought and kissed back. His hands cupped Regis’ head, and after a while the vampire drew in a breath as they parted.

“You are making me tingle again,” he laughed, leaning into the touch.

“What brought that on?” Geralt asked, referring to the kiss. It seemed almost uncharacteristically affectionate for the vampire. 

He had half a thought to pull away, but couldn’t find a single reason why he should. Regis’ presence was comforting.

Regis hummed, nuzzling the hand that was cupping his cheek. He looked entirely unbothered.

“I was worried. Angoulême told me Cahir was wounded. I’m just relieved to see you’re unharmed.”

“Did you kiss him, too?” Geralt joked, and Regis swatted his hands away with a snort of laughter. The vampire bent down to sort out the fish.

“I did not. His good mood doesn’t depend on someone having sex with him,” he said. He then offered Geralt some of the fish, and the witcher ate with good appetite. After a moment of silence, broken only by the lonely calls of a night bird, Geralt spoke.

“Is that the reason we’re fucking?”

Regis turned towards him. “Pardon?” He looked genuinely confused.

“Are you screwing me just to keep my company tolerable?” Geralt clarified, licking his fingers. He didn’t know what made him ask, but he found he really wanted to know. He knew he couldn’t continue the arrangement if Regis wasn’t enjoying it, because even if they did have sex, they were friends first.

Regis squeezed his arm and smiled, eyes narrowing with it. “Please don’t assume I’m going into this for a purely altruistic reasons Geralt. You are splendid company in bed, and I’m rather happy with our arrangement.”

Geralt laughed, and the worry eased. “Figures. You’re really living up to the lecherous reputation vampires have.”

Regis’ grin matched his own. “Likewise, my friend.”

Geralt was still smiling to himself as he settled down to sleep. With Regis standing guard he was able to forgo sleeping in his armor; for all his professions of being a coward, the vampire made no requests for Geralt to assume responsibility for their safety tonight. 

Geralt drifted off quickly, lulled into comforting darkness by the rare certainty that he was safe.

***

Beauclair was...overwhelming.

After roaming the wilds for so long, being thrust into the court was not unlike stepping into a brightly-colored and sweet-smelling dream. The palace was like a gilded picture, and somehow the reveal of Dandelion’s true identity fit right in. By the time Geralt was released from his duties as madam Vigo’s champion, he was feeling almost tipsy with the atmosphere.

Fringilla’s deep gaze and soft warmth had done absolutely nothing to dispel the dream. 

Geralt was directed into a splendid room, drawn a hot bath, and left to his own devices. He sunk into the fragrant water, and without a thought his hands slipped under the surface to caress himself. He had been half-hard all the time when he’d held Fringilla, and the woman had certainly noticed. 

Geralt closed his eyes and his imagination sprung free, driving him to stroke himself under the water. He licked his lips as he tried to imagine whether it was too far-fetched an idea to try his hand with the black-haired lady. Perhaps at the feast they’d mentioned…

The air made a soft wooshing sound and when Geralt opened his eyes, Regis was sitting down in the armchair by the fire and considering him.

“Evening,” he remarked with a knowing smile.

Geralt chuckled. He knew Regis was aware of what he’d been doing, but all sense of false modesty between them had been scrapped quite some time ago.

“It would seem the land of fairytales is living up to its reputation,” the vampire said. His gaze was deliberate, never straying from Geralt’s face.

“Seems so. Dandelion seems happy enough,” Geralt said as he leaned back. He brought his right hand out of the water to lean his head on it, but let the other linger underwater. Regis’ eyes flicked to it and then back to his face.

“He’s not the only one who seems content to stay here for a while.”

Geralt shook his head, some of his good humor dissipating. “We’re not gonna stay long.”

“As you say,” Regis nodded. He seemed to consider something for a moment. “However, I hazard a guess our arrangement is coming to an end,” he added in an even tone, meeting Geralt’s eye with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Geralt shrugged, but lust pooled in his stomach at the bare mention. Regis, using some vampiric sense of his, seemed to take note. He pushed up from the armchair, and slowly stalked closer, until he was standing over Geralt. The witcher tilted his face up. Regis’ herbal smell hid his arousal well, but Geralt had gotten the scent so thoroughly imprinted into his memory he would have recognized it anywhere.

“And yet I’m all alone in my room tonight,” Geralt grinned. His left hand started moving again, gliding along his hardening cock under the water.

The vampire leaned closer, bringing a hand to cup Geralt’s cheek. His fangs were showing as he smiled.

“So, once more? On a real bed, no less.”

“I remember someone begging me to fuck him,” Geralt taunted, and with that Regis hauled him out of the tub. Water splashed onto the floor, but Geralt was much too preoccupied with Regis carrying him to the bed, not struggling to support his weight at all. His cock was caught between their bodies, and the friction made him gasp.

Regis threw him down onto the bed, and the misted his way out of his own clothes, landing on top of Geralt. The kiss that followed was all kinds of sloppy, and Geralt laughed into it. Regis felt familiar as he held onto him, hands roaming up and down his back and ass. It was sheer luxury to do this on a wide, soft bed, and not against a tree or on hard ground.

Even the oil Regis picked out from the nightstand smelled better, soft and subtle. Regis poured a liberal amount over Geralt’s cock and then sat back to stroke him languidly, his other hand kneading at a thigh and teasing his balls.

“Come on,” Geralt finally panted, tugging at Regis’ hips so he’d scoot a bit closer. The vampire surprised him by moving, but instead of bringing his ass within the reach of Geralt’s fingers, he deftly positioned the cock against himself and bottomed out without any preparation.

Geralt’s head burst full of bright, white light and dull ringing sounds as pleasure struck through him like a thunderclap. A harsh cry left his mouth, almost drowning out Regis’ low, vibrant moan.

When Geralt finally managed to force his eyes open, Regis was smirking at him, riding him at a slow pace as he waited for the witcher to regain his faculties.

“How the fuck—” Geralt guttered, breath leaving him as Regis clenched around him.

“You forget I’m not human,” Regis said in a breathy voice. He picked up the pace, his own cock hard as rock where it moved in front of him. “I’m much less likely to break.”

“Still, wouldn’t wanna hurt you,” Geralt panted as he finally started to thrust, hand gripping Regis’ hips hard.

The vampire looked down at him with a surprised sort of amusement. A second later he surged down to kiss Geralt, and gasped into his mouth.

“It’s happening again,” Regis moaned. He drew back, eyes wide with delight and astonishment. “It feels— _ ohh _ .”

Geralt guessed Regis meant the tingling, and he grinned. He stroked his hands up and down Regis’ chest and stomach, carefully avoiding his erection, and enjoyed the blissful look that overtook the vampire.

He lost himself watching Regis, who was trying and failing to keep his eyes open. His movements grew more and more urgent, and Geralt bit back a moan as he felt Regis tighten, his leg muscles trembling under his hands.

When he finally began to stroke Regis, the vampire made a sound not unlike a sob, crushing their mouths together as he started to come. Geralt felt the slickness coat his fingers, and as it mixed with the scent of clean sweat and musk of sex, he kept smiling.

***

Geralt paused in front of Regis’ rooms. He could still feel the January chill clinging to his skin from the long and hard ride he’d taken. The corridor was empty and only his breathing broke the silence of the late afternoon.

He was being stupid. How had the vampire worded it, ‘witcher who suffers from pangs of conscience, impotence and the inability to take decisions?’ He certainly felt like it.

He knocked before his nerves got the better of him. He knew Regis was most likely to be somewhere else in the castle at this time of day, in the library or spending time with Cahir, Milva, and Angoulême; he tended to leave to meet the succubus only when the sun had gone down.

Geralt’s thoughts were interrupted by the door creaking open, and the vampire greeted him with a smile.

“Geralt. This is a pleasant surprise.” Regis opened the door wider and nodded his head. “Come in.”

Geralt saw several piles of books teetering at the edges of tables, along with page upon page of writing and drawings. He wondered what Regis had been up to, and a moment later felt a pang of guilt; he had paid very little attention to his friends for the past month or two.

“What can I do for you?” Regis asked once they were seated. He was wearing a black, fitted doublet, and his hair was neatly tied back. 

“Have you been happy here?” Geralt blurted out, without any preamble. He was in a weird mood.

Regis frowned as he arrived to the same conclusion. “What makes you ask that?”

Geralt averted his gaze. “We’ve stayed a bit longer than I thought we would and—well, I just wondered.” His voice grew quieter towards the end of the sentence. Even he heard how flimsy it was, as far as excuses went.

Regis cocked his head, considering him. The time at the palace had treated them well, but Geralt couldn’t help wondering how much stress trying to stay undercover had caused to the vampire.

“Is something the matter, Geralt?” Regis finally asked. His tone was calm and comforting, but it demanded honesty with its simplicity.

Geralt swallowed. How could he put to words the gnawing unease that kept him up at night, even after he had brought Fringilla and himself to the peak and pleasure, and should sleep like a log? How could he explain that he was feeling like the ground was slowly crumbling under him, and how damn lonely he was underneath all the bustling palace life?

Geralt sprung to his feet. All of a sudden, seeking Regis out felt like a colossal mistake.

“Nevermind,” he got out. “Sorry I disturbed you, I’m going to—”

He didn’t get to finish the sentence, and he didn’t quite make it to the door. Regis caught up with him with ease, and then held him in place.

“Something is bothering you, but you’re not telling me what,” he said. His greying eyebrows were drawn low as he looked at Geralt. “Am I not your friend? Did I not promise to help you?”

“Yes,” Geralt muttered. He wanted to look away, but doing so would somehow mean admitting how much he missed the way things had been before arriving to Beauclair.

Regis relaxed, and his face turned melancholy. His hands released the hard grip on Geralt’s biceps, only to slide down and grasp his hands.

“Tell me?” he asked, almost in whisper.

“Can we—” Geralt begun, without thinking. He drew in a shaky breath. “Could you—” That sentence, too, was left unfinished, hanging in the air like birdsong from the gardens.

He wanted to ask for it, but during these months things had become so damned complicated. What had been between him and Regis had been so easy, once they’d found their footing around each other; now he felt like he was stumbling through a thicket.

Regis’ frown grew deeper. “But… What about Fringilla?”

“Don’t.” Geralt realized he’d spoken aloud only when Regis’ eyes went wide. Geralt forced himself to exhale. “Please. Not now.”

It should have felt pathetic, but Regis’ mouth formed a soft smile just then. He hugged Geralt close, and the witcher brought his arms around his friend. Regis was just as solid as he remembered, and when they pulled back, kissing him was just as easy as it had been.

Regis’ hands came up to cup Geralt’s face, his tongue tracing familiar paths. The late afternoon sunlight was making the room glow in warm colors, and Geralt allowed himself to slip into a hazy state of relaxation.

This was a daydream. A break from it all. It wasn’t real, not in the way things outside this room were.

They stripped each other slowly, as if both of them knew this was an outlier of an occurrence; something to be savoured, because it wouldn’t happen again. Geralt pushed Regis’ doublet open and the vampire shrugged off his shirt, hands catching on the unfamiliar fastenings of Geralt’s clothing. Despite the things that had changed, they rocked into each other with familiarity, and Regis growing hard as Geralt mouthed his neck and licked the tendons grounded them both.

Regis took charge once Geralt finally kicked his trousers off. He backed the witcher onto the bed, coming to rest against his chest to kiss him again. Deep and slow, and Geralt opened up under him, legs framing Regis and hands tracing his muscles.

“Please,” Geralt whispered at some point, and Regis turned to look at him with an odd expression in his eyes; Geralt couldn’t remember ever asking for anything in quite that tone. The vampire reached some conclusion of his own soon after him, and as his fingers started to tease Geralt open, he continued pressing kisses everywhere.

Only when Regis slid into him with a soft huff of air, Geralt realized what was so different. They had done pretty much everything two men could when it came to sex, but they had never been gentle before. And this was gentle, there was no question about it. Regis was happy to move slowly inside him, and he never pulled back from where he rested against Geralt.

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” Regis whispered, and Geralt obeyed without any conscious thoughts. The position put them even closer to each other, and Regis’ tongue dipped into his mouth to taste him.

It went on for a long time. At some point Regis came, but he stayed inside Geralt, never going soft, and then he resumed fucking him, until Geralt was breathing hard despite them still moving so slow. Only then Regis wrapped a hand around him, and in a few strokes he sent Geralt hurtling headlong into his release.

 

“What will you do tomorrow?” Regis asked. He was resting half on top of Geralt, hand idly stroking his flank. They were absolutely filthy, but neither felt like moving.

Geralt opened his eyes. The sun was starting to go down, and the light was redder than before.

“I’m going to ride to the Pomerol vineyard,” he said after a while. “Mr. Fierabas will be waiting for me early tomorrow morning.”

Regis acknowledged that with a hum, pressing a short kiss to his hair and settling more comfortably onto the bed.

“Another contract, I take it?”

“A korred, they claim. Some folks call it a rutterkin.”

“Do be careful.”

Geralt smiled. He pressed his nose into Regis’ messy hair. “Always am.”

“Liar,” the vampire chuckled.

Geralt turned around and wrapped his arms around Regis, who squirmed to make himself settle into the embrace. The witcher wanted to say something, to somehow acknowledge how important Regis was to him, but as was usual to him, he lacked the words.

The vampire sensed the shift in the mood and met his eye. His smile was familiar, making the unease dissipate.

“I know,” he said.

***

_ Afterwards, when the shock is just starting to wear off, Yen takes his hand. She is hurting just like he is, mentally and physically,  _

_ “Who was that, Geralt?” She is looking at the melted column. Geralt glances at it, but the sight sends a stab of nausea through him. _

_ “A friend. I’m going to miss him.” _

_ It’s such an inadequate way to put it, but there really is no word for what Regis was to him. _

_ “Was he a human?” Her voice is quieter, as she takes in his grief. _

_ “The epitome of humanity.” _

_ Regis would have appreciated the compliment, lame as it is. _

_ He turns to her, and there is deep relief in her eyes as it slowly sinks in that the worst is over. They are alive, and Ciri is alive. The three of them are finally together. _

 

_ In a few moments they will know that the worst is definitely not over, but for now, they dare to believe it. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another song for this fic, because my own tears sustain me: Mumford & Sons: [Wild Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Um1Esy87T54)  
>  _Mortal once again_  
>  _Making out, watch me pretend_  
>  _And you whisper words forbidden_  
>  _To see if I've been listening_  
>  _Well now I'm listening_
> 
> Beta by the very excellent [snuckybarnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snuckybarnes/pseuds/snuckybarnes)

His memories returned in an odd sort of way. A fragment here, a flashback to a conversation there, and once the flood begun, there really wasn’t much Geralt could do to stop it. He wasn’t sure he wanted some of the memories back, but everyone around him was just so damned happy he was back to himself.

The memory of Yen came back almost at the same time as did the one of Regis. One moment Geralt was staring at the angry face of Vernon Roche, and the next he remembered _dying_. It was its own kind of awful, but having Triss explain how the love of his life had died as well easily topped it. And then there was nothing he could do about it, not anymore.

He still felt the djinn’s magic, and it made him wonder whether he was doomed to walk through the rest of his life like that; tied to a dead sorceress he had loved.

The full memory of Regis came back slower, like a landscape revealing itself through fog. At first, he only remembered the vampire as a person who had been a part of his life, but little by little the memory grew sharper. Black eyes, a smile with pursed lips, the smell of aniseed, wormwood, and cinnamon.

Then one night he had a dream. He was in a beautiful room with gilded door frames and pompous portraits, and Regis was there with him. Geralt was on the bed, lying on his back, and Regis was fucking him, and he felt safe.

He woke up with a gasp, so hard he was hurting, and more confused than ever. He couldn’t bring himself to touch himself, because his mind felt like it was struggling to contain itself. Geralt remembered Regis, but he couldn’t remember how the vampire made him feel. Had they been lovers? There was something missing from the mental image.

Because Regis was dead, Geralt didn’t hold much hope for ever finding out who the vampire had been to him. The dream came back a few times, but it grew fainter, and then stopped invading his head altogether.

Yen was different. She haunted his dreams, and even while he still believed her dead, the djinn’s magic tugged at him. It hurt, and the hurt opened into a chasm inside him when he learned Yen was alive.

_Síle de Tansarville looked at him closely, the remains of the megascope throwing up sparks in the background, and Geralt turned away; he had no interest in discussing his relationships with the sorceress._

_“She is somewhere in Nilfgaard. Has amnesia, as far as I know,” Síle said._

_Geralt nodded and took his leave._

 

Seeing Yen again in White Orchard was like being dropped into cold water; his heart gave a violent lurch, and he tried and failed to avoid showing how glad he was to see her. Vesemir cast a dubious glance at them both but held his silence, bless the man. Geralt agreed to ride to Vizima with her, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

In the end, he was disappointed but not surprised. Yen was much like she had been. Geralt was happy she was alive, but he was left wondering if she still felt the same way about him. He soon discarded the doubt, because finding Ciri was more important.

 

Geralt kept recovering smaller and smaller fragments of memory as he searched. Some of them were of Regis, inciting more confusion, but most were just things a normal person would most likely forget.

He remembered watching Regis lift the horseshoe from the fire; Milva shouting in rage as the arrow felled the vampire, and for a while all of them thought him dead; the few seconds when he mistook Angoulême for Ciri; sitting behind the waterfall with feverish Cahir; catching Dandelion’s eye over the vat, where Fringilla Vigo and Anna Henrietta were stomping grapes.

He remembered his friends, and he mourned them in silence.

 

And then he was in Skellige hunting a djinn with Yen.

The whole ordeal made nausea crawl at the back of his throat, and it had nothing to do with destroying the garden of Freya only a few days ago; no, he looked at Yen, and deep inside he feared the magic would take away the only thing he was certain about. He’d pulled through the nastier bits of his search by clinging to the improbable hope of making it through with both Yen and Ciri whole and healthy. He didn’t want to lose the tether his love for Yen gave him.

But lose it he did. One moment he felt the magic wash through him, and he dared to hope, and the next he stumbled on the deck as the spirit escaped, and he felt the thread snap.

It should have felt monumental, he thought afterwards. One moment he was absolutely certain he was in love with Yen, and the next everything was gone. He felt hollow, and trying to discern if there had ever been real feelings held little appeal. It would have meant looking through his whole life with a critical eye, and he didn’t have the time or strength for that. There was too much history between him and Yen, and they still had to work together to save Ciri. So when Yen elected to act as if Geralt had just decided to not love her any longer, he went with that.

***

Much, much later, just as Geralt raced into Beauclair with Anna Henrietta, he contemplated dully how unlikely his retirement was starting to look.

The duchess was just as he remembered, if a little tempered by age. Geralt had been apprehensive about returning to Toussaint, but something had made him ride to meet Palmerin and Milton nonetheless. Meeting them again triggered a memory: Geralt had been walking in the Beauclair palace gardens with Regis, when the knights-errant had approached and begged him not to harm the succubus.

Geralt had remembered the succubus incident earlier, but now he recalled something else; the way Regis’ eyes had grown sharp at the mention. They had never exchanged words about the beast, but Geralt remembered feeling amused that Regis would take it upon himself to visit her.

Beauclair palace was just as gilded and colorful as Geralt recalled, although he had little time to appreciate it as he ran through the grounds and tried to gather the two clues in time. At the back of his head a memory whispered, telling him he was missing something crucial, but he had no spare moments to examine the nagging sensation.

 

When he crept into the warehouse, silver sword in hand, Geralt was certain he knew what he was dealing with. He hadn’t met true higher vampires since Regis had died, but the way the Beast could shift into mist was enough of a clue. Geralt felt a sense of loss wash through him unprompted at the thought, but he pushed it aside as he finally locked eyes with the Beast.

Another thing that became clear right away, was Regis’ words about higher vampires each being unique individuals. There was very little about the Beast of Beauclair that reminded Geralt of Regis, even when he still found it odd how few feelings there were attached to the memories of his former friend.

The Beast was angry. The foremost thing about him was the dripping hatred in his voice, and the way he stalked the upper deck of the warehouse made Geralt’s instincts go haywire. He tried to remember how Regis had fought, but too late; the Beast had vanished, and Geralt knew he was in deep shit.

 

Geralt thought he had lived long enough to not get taken by surprise anymore, but when someone literally flew in and threw himself in front of the claws the Beast was trying to run through him, he felt that bit of certainty vanish. His mouth gaped as he stopped in his tracks, and then his insides turned to ice, because that voice—

_He knew that voice._

Geralt barely saw the red-tinted mist fly out, because even when his eyes tracked it, he was painfully aware of the man in front of him. The horrible wound knitted itself closed just as he turned his head back, and then the man turned around, and Geralt _remembered._

It felt like a key slotting into a lock, and when he smelled the herbs his feet moved without thought. Regis met him halfway, and Geralt couldn’t understand how he had been capable of forgetting Regis, because the vampire was here, and it felt like no time at all had passed. He was thinner and his hair had more grey than black in it, but when Geralt held on to him, his palms found the familiar muscles, and the feeling of dread started to ease from his chest.

“How—?” he managed, and Regis pulled back from the hug. His black eyes were kind and clever, just like before, and Geralt felt a wild urge to kiss him just then.

It was gone the next second, when Regis stepped away and started to explain.

***

By the time Geralt arrived to the Mére-Lachaiselongue cemetery, he was feeling both better and worse.

Knowing Regis was alive set off a tingling, happy feeling inside his chest. He couldn’t put a name to it, but the thought of getting Regis back was overwhelming in the best way. Having a friend like Regis was worth the world.

The bit he had been missing from his memories was back now. Geralt hadn’t remembered how just existing in the same space as Regis made him feel, and he was having trouble describing it now. The vampire looked lithe and unassuming, yet his presence seemed to command all of Geralt’s attention. It was disconcerting, and at the same time Geralt was drawn to it, because they had been close in the past.

He watched Regis pace as he talked about Dettlaff, and Geralt had to suppress a smile. It was starting to seem like getting melted into the floor of Stygga had done nothing to stem the flow of words.

Regis noticed his smirk and paused, a smile of his own tugging at his lips in the warm glow of the oil lamp.

“I see you still find my verboseness amusing,” he pointed out as he came to a stop. He crossed his arms and cocked his head, and Geralt was absolutely sure he’d been subjected to that same fond glare several times before.

“Well,” Geralt drawled and grinned. “I lost all my memories, but the first thing I remembered about you was how you never shut up.”

Regis laughed, but didn’t resume his pacing. His eyes never left Geralt’s face.

“I received the news while I was regenerating. I take it you got all of them back.”

Geralt swallowed. He wondered whether he should mention how massive the difference between remembering Regis and seeing him in real life was, but then decided against it.

“Almost,” he shrugged, shifting where he stood. “Some things came back much later.” He didn’t mean to make it sound so cryptic, but when Regis’ eyes narrowed, he knew instantly he’d failed.

The vampire stepped closer, until their chests were brushing. Geralt felt a pull, and he had to stop himself from swaying towards his friend.

“Is that so?” Regis asked. His voice had dropped into a murmur. For a second, Geralt half-hoped, half-feared Regis would press him against the wall and kiss him, but then the vampire exhaled and stepped back. His face grew solemn.

“How is Cirilla? I obviously didn’t get the full story from what Dettlaff’s sources could gather, but I heard you and lady Yennefer managed to save her.”

Geralt blinked. He was feeling off-balance.

“She’s fine. Very fine, in fact. Told me to stop stalking her two months ago when she set off on her own,” he said, trying and succeeding in making his voice light.

Regis’ lips twitched. “She became a witcher?”

“Yeah,” Geralt grinned. “We agreed to meet in Kaer Morhen when the autumn comes, and see whether we’d feel like wintering there.”

Regis nodded. He looked happy for Geralt, but there was something restrained about him. Geralt tolerated the stifling silence for all of ten seconds before frowning.

“Spit it out. Something’s bothering you.”

Regis’ hands crept to the strap of his bag. He met Geralt’s eyes, and then looked away.

“How is Yennefer?” he asked in a carefully neutral tone.

Geralt almost laughed, then. He had managed to ignore the hurt of breaking the djinn’s spell for months, and that was what Regis chose to drag up now?

“Fine, I guess. Haven’t seen her after we defeated the Hunt,” Geralt told him. He was curious to find out why Regis was asking that.

The vampire frowned. “I thought you found each other again.”

Geralt was starting to hate that faux-uninterested tone. He leveled a glare at his friend as he stepped closer.

“Why do you ask?”

Regis’ eyes went wide. It was almost comical.

“I, ah,” he begun. His gaze dropped somewhere around Geralt’s shoulder. “I was curious.”

Geralt waited, and eventually Regis lifted his gaze again. He looked miserable and angry.

“ _Fine_ ,” he huffed when Geralt refused to say a word. “Our arrangement was left open when we last departed from Toussaint, and I underestimated how much I’m still drawn to you,” he spat out, eyes stubbornly narrowed. “But I really don’t fancy spending the rest of my considerably long life hiding away from an angry sorceress.”

It was...honest, if nothing else. Geralt blinked, and then the words hit home. He opened his mouth, but instead of words, a laugh escaped.

Regis pursed his lips and looked insulted, but when Geralt took the last half a step closer and sneaked hands around his middle, he didn’t try to stop him.

“Drawn to me, eh?” Geralt grinned, and Regis rolled his eyes.

“I’m taking that back,” the vampire scoffed, but when Geralt leaned closer, a soft breath escaped him. It brushed Geralt’s cheek, and when Regis made no move to back away, Geralt closed the distance and kissed him.

The feeling of something settling into place repeated, much more intensely. Regis’ hands were suddenly in his hair, cradling his head, and Geralt was swept away with it, because even when he’d slept with Yen in Skellige, it had not felt quite like this. He tried to sort through the feeling, but then Regis _did_ back him into the wall, and sensible thoughts vanished into thin air.

The vampire pinned him down and continued kissing him, and Geralt was extremely on board with letting their hands wander and rediscover how good it felt to hold on to Regis. Then the vampire pulled back with an annoyed air to him, but it was tempered by the hazy look in his eyes.

“You didn’t answer the question, Geralt,” he said with a hint of impatience.

Geralt laughed. He slipped his hands under Regis’ outer layer, and enjoyed the hitch in his breath as his fingers skimmed the soft, finer fabric underneath it.

“Yen’s got no say in who I sleep with,” Geralt got out, and it was apparently enough for Regis, because he dived right back into another kiss and his fingers returned to where they had been stroking his sides.

Geralt had half a thought that maybe picking up right where they’d left off with Regis wasn’t a very bright idea, but then Regis worked his chest armor off and they pressed that much closer, and it was a losing game from there on. Geralt was happy to hang on for dear life and tug Regis’ clothes off when they reached a chamber that thankfully held no coffins or skeletons, only a low bed. They continued shedding clothes as they went, and with every bit of skin revealed, Geralt felt happier.

Regis pressed him down on the bed and bent low to press kisses to his chest, but then he drew back. They were both naked, and Geralt was delighted to notice he still remembered where to touch and stroke to make Regis’ shiver and grow harder.

The vampire watched him for a while and then smiled.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Geralt answered by thrusting his hips up, and their erections dragged together. Regis bit back a moan and pinned his hips down as he gave him a glare.

“We had our agreement, and I’m happy to continue as we did, but—”

“What, do I have to fear a jealous succubus?” Geralt shot back. Regis growled and kissed him hard, leaving him panting and out of breath when he pulled back.

“ _No,_ ” he said, as if his own eyes were not glazed with need. “But I want to know we both know what this is about.”

Geralt opened his mouth to say yes, and then the memory of their last time together in Beauclair flooded his memory.

It had been different, but he had not known how. He still didn’t know; the only thing he was certain about was how much lighter his chest felt when he could feel Regis’ slow heartbeat against his fingers, and how badly he wanted Regis to fuck him again.

“Of course,” Geralt finally said. He wanted to make it sound exasperated, but it came out soft. He cleared his throat, and suddenly meeting Regis’ gaze was too much. He let his eyes dip down, to the vampires’ collarbones.

Regis pulled his head back up. The irritation was gone, and he was smiling sadly.

“I missed you,” Geralt got out, when the tension became too much. It was true, but it didn’t describe the nascent something igniting in his chest when Regis leaned in and brushed their lips together.

“And I you,” he murmured.

What had started as frantic slowed down as Regis resumed moving. He pressed closer, and Geralt felt utter relief wash through him.

Regis was alive.

He’d gone so long without fucking men the first breach of fingers made him go stiff. Regis halted, and then he smiled knowingly. He continued very slowly, both of them lying on their sides, and in a matter of minutes Geralt was clinging on to the vampire, as his fingers reached deeper and deeper, until he felt like he was coming apart at the seams.

Regis rolled him over, and then pressed Geralt down as he slid in, a hard gasp rocking him as he did. Geralt whined as he tried to push back, and Regis seemed to remember how he sometimes needed to be shown he was helpless; his friend held him down, kissing the back of his neck as he started to move, and then fucked a confusing array of moans and whimpers out of Geralt.

It was glorious, and Geralt remembered how they’d done this in Red Port, and while they had been traveling with the Riverdell beekeepers, and then in Beauclair, and his orgasm seemed to build at the base of his spine and then rip through him when Regis finally started to stroke him.

Geralt slumped down after, and enjoyed Regis moving inside him. The hard grip on him eased, and then Regis pressed closer as his hips started to lose their rhythm, and he kissed Geralt’s face where he could reach it as he came with a shout he muffled into Geralt’s hair.

Regis eased out of him carefully, and Geralt twitched as cum dribbled on his thighs. Regis laughed, a breathy sound, and then spooned Geralt before he managed to get a word in. Geralt relaxed against him, and after a while took Regis’ hand.

“Still pretty good,” he muttered into the sheets.

Regis’ chuckle vibrated against his back. “Likewise. I maintain that scaring you senseless by propositioning you was one of my brighter ideas.”

Geralt laughed. “Now you’re exaggerating.”

“Me? Perish the thought,” Regis murmured as he nuzzled Geralt’s neck. “Your sullen moods lifted, I got to satiate my curiosity about witchers, everybody won.”

Geralt opened his eyes, but he wasn’t really seeing the crypt around him. Instead, he recalled how much being with Regis had helped him throughout their journey. He was almost certain he would have driven Milva and Cahir off by his temper, had Regis not stepped in with his proposal when he did.

But that wasn’t the whole picture. Something was nagging at him, insisting that Geralt was still missing some piece of the puzzle that was his friendship with Regis.

“What is it?” Regis asked. He pressed another kiss to the cooling skin. He freed his hand from Geralt’s grip and stroked his flank.

Geralt closed his eyes again. He wouldn’t fuck this up by getting stuck inside his own head. Besides, they had a higher vampire to track and find.

“Nothing, he said as he rolled around, slinging his leg over Regis’ The vampire gave him a smile, settling into the embrace with the same familiarity Geralt had been basking in.

“You said you had an idea how me might find Dettlaff?”

***

Tesham Mutna made Geralt’s skin crawl.

Apprehension settled deep into his chest the second Regis downed the blood, and it had nothing to do with him being afraid of the vampire. Geralt wanted to dig his heels in and refuse to go, but then Regis was walking away and he had no option but to follow, because the vampire couldn’t very well manage the process of collecting blood alone, could he?

Geralt smelled the anxiety on Regis when he climbed into the cage. He felt like shit when he locked his friend down.

“Are you sure?” Geralt asked for the umpteenth time.

Regis almost rolled his eyes, which were starting to look more and more bloodshot, but then he didn’t. Instead, he managed a small smile.

“I’d do this for Dettlaff in a heartbeat. Or you.”

Geralt nodded, turning blindly away, and pulled the crank that hauled the cage up into the air. He caught a glimpse of Regis’ transformation, but his focus was drawn to the approaching necrophages.

His stomach turned when Regis started to scream. He had to focus on the fight, because Regis had most likely overdone the baits a lot; it felt like there was no end to the monsters. They were mostly scurvers and alghouls, but a single fleder almost got him by surprise when it leaped into the fray from the tunnel.

Geralt allowed his concentration to narrow down into the essentials, because it was easier to kill the monsters and not think than it was to listen to Regis’ agony from above.

Finally the last katakan skulked away, and Geralt allowed his sword to come down. He was hurting, but it was nothing compared to how Regis was doing, going by the sounds.

When he brought the cage back down, he had to stop himself from rushing to Regis. Seeing his friend transformed brought back a memory of Stygga, but Geralt shook his head to drive it away.

“It’s just me,” he murmured as he stepped closer. Regis growled and tried to wrench himself free, but the ancient cage held.

“It’s gonna be over soon.”

Geralt carefully sliced Regis’ wrist and let the blood drip into the bottle he’d been given. When it was done, he could only wait.

“I’m gonna kick your ass into next week,” Geralt told Regis flatly. His friend glared at him, eyes pitch-black and dangerous. “You didn’t tell me it was going to be like this.”

He didn’t go very deep into the meditative state, and when Regis finally slumped down inside the cage, Geralt was on his feet in an instant.

He opened the manacles and then carefully gathered Regis into his arms, trying not to jostle him too much. They ended up on the floor, and Geralt wanted to shake Regis, he was so furious. His chest was growing tense with it. There was a long, drawn-out silence, broken only by the sound of dripping water and Regis’ shallow breaths.

“I know you’re angry,” Regis whispered. He turned to bury his face into the crook of Geralt’s arm and laid a hand over his heart. “I’m sorry.”

Geralt felt that nascent something give a painful twist inside his chest, and his breath actually hitched. It made Regis open his eyes.

Geralt looked away, but refused to let go of the vampire. His throat was feeling hot and tight.

Regis waited for a while, and Geralt felt his eyes trying to see through his skull.

“You were scared.” Regis words fell into the silence, and Geralt tried and failed to hide the shudder that went through him.

It was true. He had been scared. He’d only just gotten Regis back, and had immediately been reminded of Stygga and of losing him.

Regis’ hand brushed his face and then turned it towards himself. Geralt tried to blink away the anxiety he knew was showing through his eyes, but he knew Regis would see it anyway.

The vampire tugged him lower, until their lips met. Geralt had to hold himself back from crushing Regis against himself, because _fuck it all_ , he had been scared to death something would go wrong. He settled for a short kiss and cupping Regis’ face, but then the vampire’s breath hitched.

“What is it?” Geralt asked as he pulled back, a fresh wave of adrenaline making his fingers prickle.

Regis smiled, leaning into his hand. “You’re making me tingle again.”

When Geralt’s alarmed brain processed the words, he let out a hoarse laugh.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

He made to withdraw his hand, but Regis held on to it, pressing a kiss to his palm.

“It’s alright. It feels good,” he said in a faint voice.

 

When they finally made it back to the cemetery, Geralt lowered Regis onto the bed. The vampire looked ready to pass out. He was naturally pale, but now his skin was ashen and dark veins were standing out. His eyes looked like he had come out from the wrong end of a serious bender.

“Can the Resonance wait until morning?” Geralt asked as he crouched down.

Regis made a face, but then settled into the mattress. “I think so. I had thought I could prepare it now, but—”

“The only thing you’re gonna do is sleep,” Geralt interjected. Regis gave him a weak glare, but the effect was sort of ruined by his eyelids drooping down halfway.

“I guess you’re right,” Regis muttered, and then he was slipping into sleep.

Geralt tugged a duvet over his friend before sitting down on the bed and rubbing his eyes. Then he carefully peeled his armor off and set to cleaning, scrubbing blood and viscera away the best he could. He bandaged the few cuts he’d acquired, and when that was done, he was so tired his head was humming.

Geralt contemplated riding back to Corvo Bianco to check how Marlene was doing, but then his eyes fell on Regis.

The vampire was curled up under the duvet Geralt had thrown on him. His breathing was deep and slow, and for a while Geralt just listened to it. His own breaths synchronized without him thinking, and he jolted awake when his head nodded.

He made the decision then, and settled onto the unoccupied side of the bed, careful not to jostle Regis. There was a foot of space between them, but Geralt felt much better when he knew he’d be here, should his friend need anything.

His last thought before sleep took him was how nice it would be to fall asleep next to Regis every night.

***

Geralt woke up to black eyes watching him closely. He blinked a few times, but his mind didn’t alert him; it, too, had long ago come to the conclusion that Regis was not a threat. Even when they were currently so tangled together it was hard to tell which limb belonged to whom.

“Good morning,” Regis said with an amused smile.

“Uh. Morning.” Geralt felt his neck grow hot. “I decided to stay, in case you, you know. Needed anything.”

When he finally located his own arms and legs, he realized he had probably moved during the night. How he’d managed to maneuver Regis into his lap was a mystery he wasn’t too keen on solving.

“That’s very kind of you,” Regis said. He snuggled a bit closer, and Geralt mentally blew out a breath. Maybe it wasn’t that bad.

“We’ve never actually slept together,” Regis remarked once he’d settled his head on Geralt’s arm and slotted a leg between his. “We did a considerable number of things together, but we never shared a bed for sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt blurted out. “I can go.” His chest was feeling tight again, but before he managed to bolt out of the bed, Regis tightened his hold.

“Please don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mind. You’re very warm.”

“O-kay,” Geralt said, trying to relax. He was suddenly feeling awkward, which he honestly had never thought he’d experience around Regis. He was hyper-aware of every breath he took, and where he was touching his friend.

The vampire noticed his stiffness, and craned his head up to look him in the eye.

“You’re welcome to share my bed,” Regis said with a reassuring smile. “You make me feel very safe.” His hand came to cup Geralt’s cheek, and then he pressed a kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth.

Geralt felt a weird urge to drag Regis even closer, then. The tightness never eased away, but it was joined by a confusingly strong urge to make sure nothing ever harmed Regis. He let out a small sound when Regis pulled back, and the vampire smiled wider before kissing him properly.

“You make me feel safe too,” Geralt said when they parted. He unconsciously tightened his hold.

Regis’ answering smile was so bright it took Geralt by surprise. Then he realized that not many humans would feel like that with a higher vampire, let alone voice the sentiment.

Regis’ eyes slipped closed again, and he shuffled even closer on the bed.

“I’m feeling the tingling again,” he said in a content voice. “Are you doing it on purpose?”

Geralt shrugged. “No. And no offence, but sex is like the last thing I was thinking of just now.”

“Mm, I’m afraid I have to agree,” Regis muttered. Geralt hesitated, and then started to stroke Regis’ hair. The vampire pushed against his hand, and his face turned blissful.

“It feels so nice,” he whispered.

Geralt smiled. The tightness inside his chest was almost hurting by now, but for some reason it felt good; like something he would need to guard closely, because it felt precious and new.

***

Dettlaff’s warning words echoed through Geralt’s head the whole way as he and Regis walked to where he’d left Roach right outside Dun Tynne. He knew he had screwed up, but no matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t find anything he could have done differently; he had known Regis wouldn’t be able to keep Dettlaff away, and how in hell could he possibly have guessed Rhenawedd and Sylvia Anna were the same person?

“What will you do?” Regis asked when they reached Geralt’s horse. Roach put her ears back when she smelled the vampire, and he hung back a little.

Geralt shrugged. His head was feeling like it was too crowded.

“Gonna go to Corvo Bianco and sleep on it. Maybe I’ll try to look for Dettlaff.”

He heard how defeated his voice sounded. Regis had told him there was no way to locate Dettlaff if he didn’t wish to be found, so he held no great hopes.

Regis frowned. His expression was just as anxious and sad as Geralt felt like.

“You’re not going to find him.”

“I have to try, don’t I?” Geralt said as he swung himself into the saddle. “Let’s meet up tomorrow?”

Regis stepped closer, and then halted when the horse whinnied and threw her head.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Geralt managed a smile. “Yeah. I’m just feeling like shit. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He spurred Roach into a trot before Regis managed to start a new convoluted conversation about their possible plans of action. He was tired and bruised after the fight, and the only thing he wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep his worries away.

The vineyard was as beautiful as he remembered from when he’d visited it a few days ago. He’d sent a runner to the majordomo earlier, letting him know he’d be back late that night. He was surprised to be greeted by the man himself when he opened the front door.

“Hey, B-B. I thought you’d be sleeping,” Geralt said with a tired smile as he bolted the door.

His majordomo smiled at him. He’d never shown a hint of fear for a witcher, and it automatically granted him several points in Geralt’s books.

“I wanted to make sure you got home alright, master Geralt. Would you care for something to eat?”

“Actually yeah.” Geralt realized he was starving. He followed B-B to the kitchen, where several dishes had been set aside and covered with clean towels.

“Marlene has been slowly getting her strength back,” B-B explained as he started to pile food in front of Geralt. “She’s been very taken with the kitchen.”

Geralt remembered how the wight broth had tasted, but when he sampled the tomato soup and thick, golden bread, he actually groaned.

“If she wants to stay, tell her she has a place here,” Geralt told his majordomo, who looked pleasantly surprised.

When he finally closed the door to his bedroom, Geralt was so tired his head was starting to hurt. His gut was twisted up with worry, and underneath it lurked something that he couldn’t name. It felt like loneliness, but more specific, somehow.

He started to strip off his armor, piece by piece, and tried to make sense of why he was feeling sad. He should be angry at Dettlaff about his unreasonable threat, or pissed off at Anna Henrietta for thinking he could just step up his game to track down a higher vampire.

Geralt kicked his boots off, not caring where they landed, and then sat down on the bed. The sad feeling persisted, and unprompted he thought of Regis.

It would have been nice if the vampire had offered to accompany him. They hadn’t had time to sleep together again, but Geralt found himself just craving closeness. If he could go to sleep with Regis and have him there in the morning, maybe his chest wouldn’t feel like it was caving in.

Mist wafted through his window and jarred him out of his thoughts. Moonlight was spilling into the room through the gap in the curtains, and in the few seconds it took Geralt to get his silver sword drawn, he didn’t register that the mist was grey and not red.

Regis materialized at the far end of the room, eyes wide. Geralt blinked frantically, and then realized what he’d done. Shame crashed through him, and he quickly lowered his weapon.

“Sorry,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t mean to, I was thinking, and I thought Dettlaff—”

Regis crossed the room and took his free hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“It’s quite alright. I’m sorry I startled you.” He cocked his head. “You don’t look well.”

Geralt risked a glance at Regis, and the tight feeling in his chest returned.

“I was just going to bed,” Geralt said as he turned to sheathe his sword. “Did you have something urgent?”

Regis stopped him from moving and drew him into a hug. Geralt relaxed against him instantly, because apparently his body had come to truly associate Regis with safety.

“I was worried about you,” Regis said quietly. He didn’t show any signs of letting go.

“I’ll be fine,” Geralt sighed. “It’s just… This is so messed up.”

“Agreed,” Regis said as he pulled back a bit. “Would you mind if I slept here? With you?”

The first thing Geralt registered was an overwhelming sense of relief. He wouldn’t have to be alone.

Then came confusion, because he had been doing just fine up until now, so why was sleeping alone suddenly feeling like something he would like to avoid at all costs?

“I don’t mind,” he told Regis, who gave him a smile and proceeded to strip away his tunic and trousers. When he joined Geralt under the covers, he immediately pressed close, and Geralt let him. Regis was a fraction cooler than himself, and it was a pleasant reminder he wasn’t human.

They lay is silence for a while, but sleep was eluding Geralt despite his tiredness. Regis was tracing small patterns on his chest, and the touch was both relaxing and distracting.

“Why was Dettlaff so unhinged?” Geralt finally asked. The despair he’d seen on the vampire’s face kept bothering him immensely, but he couldn’t put his finger on the reason why.

Regis peered at him, his hand stilling for a while before resuming the caress. He was silent for a while, and then sighed.

“Love is different for us.”

For a while Geralt thought Regis was just going to leave it at that, but then he went on, much quieter.

“It...creeps up on you. It grows so slowly you don’t know it’s there until it’s impossible to get rid of it. Some of us don’t have the predilection at all, and go through our lives without ever experiencing it, whereas some feel it so intensely it burns them out.”

Geralt swallowed, and tried to understand.

“I take it Dettlaff is of the latter variety?”

Regis gave a mirthless chuckle and his fingers scratched Geralt’s chest gently. “I didn’t think he was, but I have been wrong about many things in my life.”

“What do you mean some of your people don’t have the predilection?”

Regis stilled, and then he seemed to pull in on himself. Geralt let him sort out his thoughts, rubbing his back.

“It’s just not there,” Regis finally said. “It doesn’t take root in some of us.” His voice was smaller than usual, and distant in a way Geralt recognized as a way of isolating a hurt.

He hugged Regis closer, and smelled the familiar cinnamon and aniseed. He hoped the scent would rub off on the sheets.

The vampire sighed and kissed his neck. Then they both drifted off.

***

Geralt woke up to Regis watching him. They were once again tangled together, and Geralt felt an intense sort of joy when Regis smiled sleepily and snuggled closer. He pressed his face into Regis’ hair, and a short while later Regis kissed him. He slipped on top of Geralt, and the softness of sleep had not quite left either of them as they started to move.

Geralt ran his hands up and down Regis’ back, and he remembered every single time he’d done so in the past; every time Regis arched into the touch and grinned, and Geralt grabbed his ass to hold him in place as their hips met in a slow thrust. Regis’ eyes fluttered closed, and Geralt sighed, pleasure thrumming between them.

Then Regis was kissing him again, and his breath was coming in a way that told Geralt he was tingling again.

“Feelin’ good?” he asked with a grin, and got a breathy, bright smile in response.

“You feel so good,” Regis whispered, diving into another kiss. He kept his movements languid, but shivers raced up his spine, and when Geralt just hugged him as close as possible, Regis whined deep in his throat and grew harder.

This time it was easier for Regis to push in, and as he settled into place between Geralt’s thighs, his eyes were shining with delight. Geralt was panting, and his heart felt full, and when Regis started to move, he just tugged the vampire closer and held on. Regis gasped as the tingling sensation swept through him, and then he kissed Geralt so long his head started to spin for the lack of oxygen.

 _I can’t lose this,_ Geralt thought as he felt himself tip over. _I can’t lose Regis._ The words floated through his heard, so clear it felt self-evident, and Geralt buried his face into Regis’ neck to hide his expression.

The vampire gave a low, drawn out moan as he spilled himself inside Geralt, body shivering and shaking with the aftershocks and then going boneless as he slumped down. Geralt wrapped his arms around Regis, and they stayed there, both panting and sweaty.

 _I can’t lose you,_ Geralt didn’t say.

***

With the last words whispered into the oppressively hot and still night, Dettlaff was gone. Geralt stared blindly at the spot where he had been, and felt nothing. He was just so tired.

“Geralt?” Regis asked as he stepped closer. His voice sounded just as exhausted.

Geralt didn’t answer, but Regis came to him and hugged him close.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Geralt’s neck. “I tried to protect her, but—”

“It’s not your fault,” Geralt said with a numb tongue. He didn’t want to look where Syanna’s body lay.

“Why did you let him go?” Regis asked. When Geralt finally met his eyes, the vampire looked like he was seconds away from crying.

“Guess I felt like I owed him,” Geralt said with a shrug.

“Owed? Him?” Regis’ face screwed up with confusion.

Geralt felt a tired smile tug at his lips. “He brought you back.”

 _To me_ , he added inside his head.

Regis’ breath hitched, and then he kissed Geralt. Geralt expected it to be rough, but instead Regis’ cradled his head with care and gave him small kisses, before his tongue gently teased Geralt’s mouth open.

“Thank you,” Regis said in a thick voice, the words slipping into Geralt’s mouth. “Thank you for not forcing us to fight.”

“You told me what would happen if—” Geralt begun, and then couldn’t finish, because Regis kissed him harder and took the rest of his breath away.

***

When he was finally released from the prison, Geralt was desperately glad to be greeted by Regis at the gates. The vampire stepped close but didn’t hug him there, in the broad daylight.

“Stop smiling so widely,” Geralt laughed. His heart felt a bit lighter.

“Can’t help it, I’m just so glad to see you,” Regis grinned. His touch on Geralt’s hand lingered. “Do you want to go home?”

“Yes, please,” Geralt groaned. “I want to have a hot bath and a proper meal, and then sleep for a week.” His eyes lingered on Regis. “And maybe something else.”

The vampire rolled his eyes, but his smile was approaching a grin once again, and Geralt laughed.

His worries had not come to an end, but the job was over. There was nothing more he could do. He had managed to drag Regis and himself through it alive. It was more than he had expected, dreaded, when he woke up from nightmares in the prison cell.

 

B-B was overjoyed to have him back. He greeted Regis in a way that told Geralt the vampire had most likely dropped by earlier, and he made a mental note to ask about it. Marlene surprised him by hugging him, and then shooed him and Regis to the patio, where she proceeded to cart dish after dish of delicious food.

Regis sat close to him, and their feet tangled under the tablecloth as they ate in comfortable silence. Geralt felt the tension slip away, until he was just leaning on Regis as they watched the sunset and listened to the distant barking of a dog. Regis’ hand was resting on Geralt’s thigh, and its weight was anchoring, as if it was a reassurance that both of them were here right now.

Just as the sun slipped beyond the horizon, Geralt turned to look at Regis. The vampire met his gaze steadily, and in that quiet moment Geralt felt something give. The tightness inside his chest snapped like it had been a fake knot all along, the kind that disappeared when you pulled hard enough.

Geralt opened his mouth, because suddenly he knew what it had been all along. He knew why he couldn’t lose Regis.

Regis’ eyes flashed and then he was on his feet and pulling Geralt with him. They barely made it to the bedroom before he pressed Geralt against a wall and kissed him with teeth and tongue. Geralt hugged him closer, and kissed back, and his head was full of susurrus, because he _knew_.

Their clothes ended up on the floor, and Geralt on his back on the bed. Regis slid down and licked his cock, leaving a messy trail of saliva as he went. His fingers pushed into Geralt, other hand holding his, and Geralt tried to keep quiet. He was spilling over, and Regis’ eyes were soft when he looked up from his handiwork.

“Let me,” Regis murmured to him, as he pushed in with one stroke and then halted, gathering Geralt close. “Let me—”

Geralt nodded, and Regis took his hand, the other one cradling his head, their foreheads pressing together. Regis went slow, and Geralt’s breath was already coming in stuttering puffs, because he kept looking at Regis—

He was in love. With Regis.

He barely dared to think the words, and as he did, a shudder ran down his spine, and Regis moaned as he sped up and kissed Geralt, the two of them as close as physically possible.

 _I love you,_ Geralt thought, kissing Regis and holding on to him like he was the only stable thing in the world. _I’ve loved you for a long time._

His breath came out almost as a sob, and Regis stilled, on the verge of coming with hazy eyes and a breathy smile. He looked at Geralt, and Geralt stared right back, unable to hide anything anymore. Regis’ mouth opened, and Geralt couldn’t look away, because it had been such a long time coming, and he was so, so in love—

Regis’ breath caught and he shuddered, a cry forcing its way out of his mouth, and Geralt realized the tingling had started again. He stroked his hands down Regis’ back, down his ass, and back up, and then Regis came with a violent, full-body shudder, and Geralt kept touching him everywhere he could reach because he wanted Regis to feel as good as he did.

Regis’ arms gave out under him and he fell on top of Geralt, who laughed breathlessly. They stayed there, sweaty and exhausted. Geralt buried his face into Regis’ neck and inhaled, and the vampire gave a weary laugh.

 

Much later, after Regis had insisted cleaning them both, they crawled back into bed. Geralt was still floating in the incredulous, half-happy, half-terrified state, and when he settled against Regis he felt a small flame kindle inside his chest.

He went stiff for a second, because acknowledging what had taken over his heart was one thing, and hope quite another.

But he couldn’t put the flame out, he realized. Regis was dozing and making small, content noises against his side, and Geralt understood he had sealed his fate long time ago. Snuffing out the hope would mean letting Regis go for good, because this—thing between them was the foundation upon which their friendship had been built. Neither of them had expected it, but there it was.

Geralt stared at the ceiling, watched moonlight dance on the wood. The flame flickered, and previous conversations flitted through his head. It felt like cold wind blowing in through the cracks.

Geralt remembered how Regis had looked at him; with surprise, and understanding.

Regis knew.

***

Geralt woke up. He blinked open bleary eyes; dull pre-dawn light made everything seem half a step removed from reality.

Regis met his eyes and came to crouch down by the bed. He was fully dressed.

“I must leave.” His voice was barely there. Geralt blinked, but the waking world didn’t come any closer.

Regis’ eyes were wide and glistening, and his hands were shaking. “I will go find Dettlaff. I can’t stay. I can’t—” His breath hitched and drowned out the rest.

The next second, he was swirling mist, and then he was gone.

Geralt felt the flame gutter out, and he was suddenly so cold he started to shiver.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I'm done torturing you with this fic. I'll continue that hobby with _Sidetracks_ (I'm taking a writing sprint this weekend to hopefully finish the first draft of the whole damn thing.)
> 
> Once again, this fic is so much better because [snuckybarnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snuckybarnes/pseuds/snuckybarnes) did her magic.

Finding Dettlaff took almost two months. For a higher vampire, such a period was basically a blink of an eye, but Regis felt every minute keenly. They were like glass being pulled out of a wound, or splintered wood that made him seep out pus as it lodged into flesh and inflamed everything around it.

_ How had they come to that? How did something so simple turn upside down? _

He forced himself to push on when the thoughts came, because at their heels followed the confusion that made his breath stutter and his chest hurt. Regis knew what he had broken, but he didn’t know if it had been the right thing to do.

How was it possible that he had not seen where they were headed? And when had it started? Why had Geralt not pulled back when he had realized what was budding inside of him?

Regis couldn’t love. He didn’t know how. He had always known he was one of those who couldn’t, who lacked that something that made feelings take root and then destroy everything they touched, until only smoke and rubble remained.

He had managed to wreck his life on his own just fine, thank you. Kicking his addiction had been the first and last thing he had succeeded at, and the rest of his life was just damage control. He had failed at Stygga, and all but died in front of Geralt.

And now Geralt had—

He couldn’t say the words even inside his head, so he flew on, until he reached a place where a familiar shadow was waiting for him. The last thread of summer had given up already, and this much farther north the evening air was getting chilly.

Dettlaff met him with a weary smile. He spread his arms, and Regis went to him, hugging him close and smelling moss and old rock.

“Why did you come?” Dettlaff asked. He looked depressed, but he was holding on to his sanity much better than Regis, it seemed.

Regis opened his mouth, but then closed it again. He wanted to say one thing, and he knew the truth was another.

_ Because I got scared. Because I broke something I created. Because I couldn’t bear to see  _ him _ break. _

“Why did you leave the witcher?” Dettlaff asked, forming his question in a new way as he pulled back and held Regis at an arm’s length.

“I had to find you,” Regis said, and it wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t a complete lie either.

Unfortunately, Dettlaff knew him too well to accept that half-truth as an answer. Regis was made of his blood, and they couldn’t lie to each other.

Dettlaff’s eyes were tired, but there was something fond in them. “You were always the smart one, Regis. What happened?”

They sat down, and Regis struggled to hold himself upright.

“He fell in love. With me,” Regis finally whispered. “We have been—close. Always. But something changed for him.”

“For him?” Dettlaff’s voice was smooth, but it lilted up with doubt. “Not for you both?”

Regis shook his head. “I don’t love.”

Dettlaff sighed. “And why do you think that?”

Regis turned to stare at him. Anger was prickling his lungs, making breathing difficult.

“I don’t fall in love. I have been alive for almost five hundred years, and I have never been in love, so why would it change?”

“Just because it’s unlikely doesn’t mean it’s impossible.” Dettlaff smiled. “It can be slow, and sometimes we only fall for those that are perfect for us, or those that stay around long enough to grow roots.”

His face darkened with pain, and Regis tired to reach for him through the blood-bond. He was met with exasperation and caring, and he turned away.

“I can’t— It can’t be.”

“Are you happy now?” Dettlaff asked, not listening to his griping. Regis turned to stare at him.

“Of course I am not,” he spat out. “I hurt him so badly by leaving.”

“Did you want to stay?” Dettlaff cocked his head, looking at Regis like he was a human he couldn’t quite understand.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I should.” Regis said. Pain swirled up as he spoke, and he drew in a breath to push it away.

“Were you happy with him? Did you enjoy being close to him?” Dettlaff went on, still ignoring how angry Regis was getting.

“Yes!” Regis snarled, jumping back to his feet. “ _ Yes,  _ I was happy! I couldn’t get enough of him, I wanted to make him happy, and never leave—”

He fell silent, because he didn’t know where the words came from, but they were true; they were so true he had to hold them like fireflies, careful not to crush them, and then release them into the night air.

“I was happy with him,” Regis repeated in a whisper. “And I got scared.”

Dettlaff drew him closer again, and Regis allowed his brother to support him. His chest was starting to hurt.

“Just because it’s slow, doesn’t mean it’s not there,” Dettlaff said conversationally, but his soul was brushing against Regis’, holding him aloft as he felt like he was drowning in something enormous.

“Oh dear,” Regis finally rasped. “I’ve made a huge mistake.”

“You can still try to fix it,” Dettlaff said.

Regis drew in a breath. The mere idea felt scary. What if Geralt wouldn’t want him back, not with all the hesitation and trouble Regis carried inside?

“But I came to find you, to see how you’re doing,” Regis said instead of voicing his doubts. Dettlaff looked at him like he knew exactly what Regis was deflecting.

“I’m hurting,” he said quietly. “But it will heal.”

“Can I help?” Regis asked. He wanted to do something to force the world to make some sense again.

Dettlaff disappointed him by shaking his head. “I need time alone. I’m glad to see you, but you have more important things to do right now. You can come back when you’ve talked with the witcher, if you wish.”

Regis bit his lip. He didn’t answer, and spent a moment looking at the ground. Finally he blew out a breath.

“He won’t be in Toussaint anymore. The fall is approaching, and he told me he will go back to the mountain keep for the winter. He was going to meet his daughter there.”

Dettlaff stayed silent. Regis started to pace.

“Finding him would be difficult, unless…” He looked up, to the tree where he felt one of his ravens watching him.

“You will find him,” Dettlaff said with a smile.

“That’s not what worries me,” Regis said quietly.

***

Geralt had been riding for several days without paying much attention to his surroundings, save for glaring at a few bandits and killing one skinny and stupid forktail. The whole long way from Toussaint had passed in a haze; he’d ridden through Rivia and Aedirn, giving big towns a wide berth. By the time he crossed the Pontar in Vergen, he was starting to feel like maybe life would go on.

Kaedwen was still recovering from the wars, but it was way less ravaged than Redania. Geralt rode slower there, slipping through towns and completing small contracts. More than once he heard stories of an ashen-haired witcheress; every time anxiety gripped him, only to release its hold when he heard she’d departed in good health and high spirits.

When he reached Gwenllech, his heart was aching a bit less. The familiar river made him smile for the first time in weeks. He knew he’d keep picking up pieces for a long time, but he’d live. He refused to think about Regis too much, because every time he did, an ache settled deep into his belly, and it refused to leave for several days.

Geralt made camp in a forest at the foot of the mountains. He knew he was a few days behind Ciri, who was no doubt following the Witcher’s Path according to a map Geralt had drawn her. She could’ve always just stepped through the fabric of time and space to reach the keep, but she’d looked at him like he was daft when Geralt had brought it up in spring.

“And what kind of a witcher am I, if I don’t arrive to the keep like the rest of you?”

“A special one,” Geralt had shrugged, grinning.

Ciri had punched him. Hard. “Draw me the blighted map. I’m going to buy a fine horse, ride it to Kaer Morhen valley, and then we can race. If Eskel comes to winter with us, I’m going to kick his ass too.”

“Scorpion’s a good horse,” Geralt had muttered, but he’d obliged.

The memory brought another smile to his lips. He kicked back at his campfire, contemplating whether to sleep or meditate tonight, and then he noticed the bird.

It was a big, sleek raven. It sat high on a pine tree, and watched him just a bit too intently for it to be natural.

A cold and hot rush flowed through Geralt. He stared right back at the bird. It blinked, cawed, and then took wing. The soft sound soon died away.

“Fuck me,” Geralt muttered. He wanted to believe it was one of Regis’ birds, just watching over him, but he couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t thought to ask whether other higher vampires could command birds.

He settled for meditation that night. He cast a glance around himself before settling on his knees, both swords within reach. Apprehension was making his skin prickle.

His journey—that he refused to think of as an escape—had been going so smoothly. He knew he’d actually have to think about how he was going to go on at some point, but for now running away from Toussaint had sufficed.

He had departed only a few days after Regis had left. Everything reminded Geralt too much of the few moments when he’d hoped, and he wished he could have managed to keep his feelings secret.

He had distantly wondered whether it had taken him so long to realize he was in love because with Yen, the djinn’s magic had interfered. With her, he had felt so certain; they were a unit, an unbreakable thing until the moment they did break. Compared to that, being with Regis had been easy  _ and _ confusing as fuck.

(He had thought about Regis. Whether he wanted or not.)

He was snapped out of his meditation when the night was just starting to yield to morning. A twig cracked as someone stepped on it, and Geralt’s head shot up, eyes narrowed. He made it to his feet, but then the stranger stepped around a wide pine tree, and he felt all strength leave his muscles.

Regis came to a stop and his hands tightened around the strap of his bag. He looked pale and drawn, but he was here.

Geralt was suddenly standing in front of Regis, and he didn’t remember crossing the distance. His hands, which had reached out, stilled mid-air. And then the hurt welled up and he stopped.

“Regis,” he said hoarsely. The night had been cold.

Regis looked sad, but he was  _ here _ , and Geralt knew right away it was preferable to any other option.

“Geralt.” Regis’ voice was small. He was so tense he looked ready to snap.

“Why are you here?” Geralt asked. Some part of him had trouble believing he wasn’t dreaming, but he could smell Regis, and it made his chest hurt all over again.

“I made a mistake,” Regis said. He wrapped his arms around himself, as if to contain something huge. “I left, and then realized it was a mistake.”

Geralt’s brain took a while to process the words, and then they clicked into place. He drew in a breath.

_ Cinnamon, aniseed, wormwood. _

“I missed you,” Geralt got out.

They both cracked at the same time, and then Regis was in Geralt’s arms, and they were kissing each other like nothing else mattered, like they had not just spent almost three months apart and hurting. The vampire was drawing in breath after breath, clearly holding himself together with enormous effort, and Geralt wasn’t feeling much more stable; he’d been aching so damn much, and now it was easing away.

He buried his hand into Regis’ hair and wrapped an arm around his waist, until they were pressed together head to toe, and his heart was hammering in his chest. Regis was hanging on to his chest armor, eyes screwed shut and shivering slightly.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt finally panted. “I didn’t want to make things difficult.”

Regis blinked his eyes open. He licked his lips and looked down. “I must apologize for leaving. I…didn’t know what else to do, but then it turned out to be the exact wrong solution.” He bit his lip. “I didn’t think I could lo—”

Geralt kissed him again, harsh and demanding, and Regis opened up for him with a shudder.

“You don’t need to say it. You don’t need to—I’m just happy you’re here,” Geralt said when they parted. Regis looked at him, hopeful and anxious, and then tucked his head under Geralt’s neck and inhaled deeply. Some tension finally slipped away from his frame. They stood together, and it felt like they were anchoring each other. Three months of lost sleep and what-if’s.

“I want to stay with you.” The words were said very quietly, but Geralt heard them. The hurting part inside his chest healed a bit as he nodded. 

“I’m going up to the keep. You can come with me.”

Regis pulled back and frowned. “Isn’t it a place just for witchers?”

Geralt laughed for the first time in what felt like months. “It’s just a place nowadays. Ciri will be there, maybe Eskel as well.”

Regis’ smile was hesitant, but it lit up his face and banished the persistent worry. Geralt couldn’t resist pressing close again, and Regis kissed him with a happy sigh, hands squeezing his waist steadily. After a while, he shivered and smiled.

“I’m tingling again.”

Geralt drew back enough to brush their noses together. “I still haven’t figured out why it only happens every now and then.”

Regis’ face turned shy, and he swallowed. Geralt was suddenly sure the vampire would have blushed, had it been possible.

“I have a...theory,” Regis murmured.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Geralt said, squeezing Regis a bit. He was happy to let the vampire keep his secrets as long as he needed to. If Regis stayed, Geralt could live with everything else. They could make it work.

“I want to,” Regis said with a stubborn expression. Geralt grinned.

“Alright. Let’s hear it.”

The vampire drew in a breath and released it. “I think… You make me tingle when I’m feeling safe with you. When I feel like I can trust you completely.”

Geralt blinked. He’d expected a complicated theory based on their differing biology, or something along those lines. Now he was struck speechless.

“But… I made you tingle already when we were with the hansa,” he said. He tried to think back to how they had started their arrangement back then.

Regis nodded, a smile reappearing. “It was a long process.”

***

Regis woke up slowly. He was aware of the chilly air in the room, of the ancient stone walls surrounding him, and most importantly, of the warm body next to him on the bed. He could hear the bitter January wind howl outside.

When he opened his eyes, Regis saw Geralt was still fast asleep. Dawn was well on its way, but Regis was slowly discovering witchers reverted to a much lazier rhythm when winter rolled around. They woke up when it got light, and then took their time breaking their fast before discussing what they wanted to do. They almost never planned ahead more than a few days at a time, and Regis was coming to like the slow way of existing.

Cirilla and Eskel, both of whom had arrived to Kaer Morhen before Geralt, had welcomed him with raised eyebrows and then proceeded to tease the white wolf mercilessly for dragging Regis with him to the keep. There had been plenty of time for Regis to get acquainted with both of them. Cirilla was a delight to talk with, and once the black-haired witcher had deemed Regis safe, he’d been happy enough to discuss alchemy and monsters with him, too.

Regis got lost watching Geralt, who slept on, eyes flickering behind his eyelids in a way that suggested dreams. He was once again looking like himself; the drawn, sad man Regis had found beside the river Gwenllech in late October had all but disappeared.

Geralt had been careful to give Regis space, but he’d found himself craving the exact opposite. Regis was happy to spend the majority of his time with Geralt, because while everything between them was still mostly unsaid, he knew how warm and happy he felt when he pressed close to kiss Geralt. It was a resilient sort of happiness, and Regis had been surprised to discover it wasn’t a new feeling. It had snuck up on him at some point.

Without thinking, Regis reached a hand over the small space separating him from Geralt, and let his fingertips skim his cheek. Geralt made a soft sound, and Regis sighed when he felt his fingertips tingle.

It had been unsettling, at first, but now Regis was sure how special this all was. His mind was calm and quiet, and as he continued to touch Geralt, the tingling reached further along his palm.

The witcher opened his eyes and smiled, still more than half-asleep. Regis snuggled closer, and the feeling swept over him in a wave of something without a definite name. Geralt wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in, nuzzling his hair.

“Mornin’”

“Good morning, my love,” Regis whispered, eyes closed and overwhelmed by how right this felt.

He heard Geralt draw in a breath, and then he smiled before pressing a kiss into Regis’ hair.

**Author's Note:**

> "Show me your hands  
> Are they cleaner than mine?  
> Show me your face  
> Did you cross the line?  
> Show me your eyes  
> They any drier than mine?  
> Your soul survives  
> But peace, you'll never find"  
> (Mumford & Sons: [If I Say](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2nOB_2DQi9U))


End file.
